


Cambpell Upbringing

by outlineincolor456



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's Journal, F/M, Future Wincest/Weecest, Gen, John Dies, M/M, Mary Lives, Mary has her suspicions, Mary's journal, Rating will change, Sam's Journal, There will be fluff, be prepared for the fluff, homeschooled Winchesters, listen the Impala is a character, raised as hunters, slow to update for a while, there will be no sex until Sam is the age of sixteen, you can fight me on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2020-08-11 22:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlineincolor456/pseuds/outlineincolor456
Summary: On November 2nd, 1983, John Winchester goes to check on his six-month-old son.John Winchester dies that night, pinned to the ceiling of the nursery as flames consume him. He is survived by his wife, Mary, and his two sons, Dean and Sam.Mary Winchester is left a widow, with nothing but the burnt remains of her home, her two sons, a classic car and cold burning rage pumping through her veins. Her hunter past has come back, now she must raise her boys like she was to keep them safe, doing the very thing she had resented her own father for.With great reluctance, she unearths her Campbell family ties, sets up her network, and starts hunting. Grief leading her down a blinding path of werewolf guts and wendigo carcasses and dead-ends on the legendary Colt. Juggling revenge on a Prince of Hell makes raising two children difficult, even more so when you catch them in a romantic relationship.This is for all-4-wincest on tumblr.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> HEY! So like I said, this is a commission for all-4-wincest on tumblr. This is going to flip through Mary raising the boys instead of John, and since we don't really know much about the Campbell side of the family, I've taken some liberties. 
> 
> This will also eventually be a Wincest fic, you're welcome to tune out after it gets introduced, but you've been warned. 
> 
> Ratings will change along with tags as things in the story progress.

_ Tuesday, November 2nd, 1983 _

Everyone was finally in bed, asleep. In classic fashion, just as Mary Winchester was starting a rare REM cycle, the baby monitor crackled with soft sounds before her baby Sam’s snuffles turned into frustrated and upset huffs that always lead to crying. The sounds stirred her awake enough to slap at her husband, passed out and snoring next to her, probably just crawled into bed after drinking a few beers more than what he’d had at dinner, meatloaf that came from the Piggly Wiggly in town that the leftovers would be the main ingredient of their famous Winchester Surprise on Saturday night. 

“John.” Mary huffed out in her barely conscious state, smacking his chest with a barely controlled ‘_ thump _’ from the back of her hand. It probably hurt more than she wanted it to, since her wedding ring would cut into him more than intended, but it would wake him up more and faster, which meant that Sam could get whatever problem he had, a wet diaper or a rumbly tummy or even a burp stuck halfway, fixed sooner and that meant more sleep. When they first had Dean John was rather helpful and good after they’d managed to get their little boy on a cycle, they were still working on getting Sam on a cycle. He’d usually wake up around 1 or 1:30 in the morning, hungry and ready, then awake again at 7 AM, noon, 5 PM and again at 10 PM. Diaper schedule was still erratic, but that was fine since Mary made sure to always have plenty of diapers in the diaper bag if they went anywhere.

_ Thump! Thwack! _

“John Winchester you wake up, go see what your son needs or I will divorce you and tell everyone it’s because you got the clap from fucking a girl in the gas station bathroom,” Mary growled, still mostly asleep but becoming more and more awake with every second that her husband was still in bed next to her.

Finally, after one more ‘_ thwack _’, John got up, grumbled something unintelligible, kissed Mary’s cheek, and stumbled to the nursery.

Mary sighed in relief before settling in, listening to the baby monitor while she tried to get back to sleep, hopefully, John would just get a bottle out of the fridge instead of making her get up to breastfeed, she was exhausted. Thankfully Sammy was much more chill than Dean was, at least now that he was on a complete schedule, but he still had nightmares, just like Dean. 

Dean was an excellent big brother too, Mary couldn’t believe just how good he was with Sam, it was like a fish in the water. Dean had a natural affinity for Sam, their neighbor Alice Parker, she’d had a baby around the same time she had Sam and had an older girl close to Dean’s age, so they’d have playdates, however Dean just didn’t seem to get along with Alice’s kids as he did with Sam; not to say he didn’t get along with them, he did, just not as naturally as he did with his baby brother.

Mary settled further into the blankets, on the verge of sleep, until she heard the sound. 

It was unholy, the kind of unholy that makes your gut wrench and knot itself and makes a cold sweat break out along the nape of your neck.

Jumping out of bed, Mary wrapped one of John’s flannel shirts around her shoulders, grabbed a pair of her jeans and hopped into them as she raced down the hall to the nursery; pounding on Dean’s door as she ran past it.

“Dean! Dean baby wake up! We have to go now!” Mary shouted, her voice strained hoarse with fear and worry, skidding to a stop when she saw what was waiting for her. Azazel, standing by her baby’s crib, her husband pinned to the ceiling, blood blooming like a morbid ink spill from his abdomen; eyes wide with shock and fear. 

Mary leaped into action, grabbing Sam from the crib, saying the exorcism rite just loud enough to properly enunciate as she moves like a whirlwind, Sam in arms, grabbing the always packed emergency baby bag and a diaper bag that stays by the door, then telling Dean to grab his emergency bag. She hears the demon’s laughter as the exorcism fails, only barely pulling at the foul energy source and making the fire sputters in its devouring of the nursery. Mary manages to grab both hers and John’s emergency grab bags as they ran downstairs, the crackle and creak of the fire eating through the beams urging them faster. 

Dean flies through the house, his bag in his little four-year-old hands. He struggles for a few seconds with the front door before Mary grabs the keys, shoves her feet into her boots and tells Dean to stand back, and kicks the door out, breaking the frame and managing to get Dean to grab his shoes from their spot by the door. 

By the time they reached the Impala, the flames had made the windows in the nursery blow out, the neighbors were awake and standing on the sidewalk across the street, their lawns or porches, all wrapped in bathrobes or jackets, murmuring and watching. Alice Parker waved widely and Mary nodded. It took the young mother only a minute to come over and help Mary juggle getting Dean and Sam into the car seats in the Impala, emergency bags put in the trunk. 

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing out of Alice’s mouth.

“I’m fine. John…” Mary bit her lip and shook her head. “He was passed out in the nursery when I went to check on Sam, I couldn’t move him and Sam…”

Alice nodded, eyes watering. “He was a good man. Honest, hard-working. He loved you and the boys very much. I’m sorry for your loss, for losing your husband like this, losing your home…. Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”

Mary thought for a solid minute before shaking her head no. The fire engine was in front of their house now, putting out the flames. “My parent’s house isn’t far. We’ll go there. I do need some gas money though, John said Baby only has half a tank, don’t want to run out with the boys in the car.” 

Mrs. Silverton, a retired teacher with three grown kids and one in their late teens, came over and handed Mary soft blankets. Alice patted Mary’s shoulder before heading across the street and telling the other neighbors.

Mary rested herself against the gleaming black body of Baby, running her hand gently along the steel as tears fell quietly down her cheeks, mourning the husband she had saved once, but still lost. 

With a grim set to her mouth, she talked to the fire chief, telling him that her husband had been in the room the fire started in, that she would like his body to be taken to Campbell Crematorium when it could be. Silently she thanked that her cousins continued the family business while running a crematorium, it made salting and burning easier.

It wasn’t long until the neighbors had pooled together some cash and handed it to Mary, brushing off her thanks. She left the address of her parent’s house with Alice, Mrs. Silverton, the fire chief, and the police. The officer she talked to had her come to the station while he got her a temporary license since she’d lost her purse to the fire, then made calls to have someone head over and turn the power on at Samuel and Deanna Campbell’s house. He even escorted her to the property. 

The entire time Sam and Dean hadn’t cried or fussed, when Mary looked back and saw Dean’s hand curled around Sam’s, she knew that was why. They had each other, and as long as that was true, then they’d always be alright.

If only she knew how true that would be later as her boys grew into teens and then young adults, and later yet men.

If only she knew.

  


_ Later that night _

Mary wiped her tears off her cheeks, one of John’s Black Sabbath cassettes in the tape deck as she pulled up to the house she grew up in. 

It had been empty since the night she’d been orphaned by the Yellow-Eyed Demon as many called him, but she knew his name, she knew the cost of making a deal with him. Her husband. Her home. And any hope for keeping her boys out of the life of hunting. It was the price she paid, and the price she wasn’t so sure if it was worth it.

Thankfully, with kind neighbors, the grounds were kept well. The grass was a bit high, and she’d have to check around to see if any of the neighborhood kids would be willing to mow the grass for ten bucks a week. The driveway needed a new load of gravel, or paved, she’d have to see what she could do, the roof looked alright but she’d get it replaced in a few years with a metal one instead of shingles that would come off with tornado force winds and do little to protect it from hail. Windows were boarded up from the inside, something she and John had done together in the weeks following her parent’s funeral pyre that she’d done alone. She’d called and wrote to her cousins, aunts, and uncles, letting them know, but they insisted that she’d do it alone, mourn alone since it would be the last thing she’d do as a hunter.

Mary let a little hiccuping scoff leave her throat as she thought about how her extended family felt about her. There was no love in the Campbell family. Well, except for her mom.

The pang Mary felt in her heart when she thought of her mom didn’t help the already aching feeling in her chest. It felt like she’d been body-slammed by a dozen werewolves and a vengeful spirit was shoving their hands into her chest and stomach, playing with her organs like a child would with Play Dough. 

Sighing softly she parked Baby in front of the small barn that once used to house farming equipment, before she and her family lived here, a good few yards away from the house a tool shed set behind the house and between the barn and house. The paint was peeling, but everything seemed stable, it’d been ten years, and Mary was glad to see little damage.

Behind her, she heard sleepy snuffling and shifting against the supple leather seats. “Mommy?”

“Dean! I didn’t realize you were awake baby, are you okay?” Mary turned and took in her eldest son’s face, some smudges of soot on his cheek fixed with a spit dampened thumb and firm swipe. Fingers ran through his blond hair, making sure there wasn’t anything wrong underneath the soft hair.

“I’m okay. Sammy’s s’ill sleepin’ at leas’.” Dean stretched a little and wiggled in the booster seat, one hand resting gently on Sam’s tummy in his car seat. “Where are we?” He asked as he looked out the window, glass green eyes wide and scanning the darkness, stubborn protectiveness outweighing the fear in the depths.

Mary sat back a little, running her fingers through her hair. “We’re where I lived when I was little. Just a few miles away from our house, this is gonna be our home now, okay?”

“Why can’t we go home to our house?”

“Well, Dean, honey, it was on fire. It did a lot of damage to our home, it’ll take a long time for it to be fixed, and even then, this place is safer. My mommy and daddy lived here, I lived here, my cousins would come over sometimes. I learned a lot of the things I know now, right here. That’s pretty cool, right?”

Dean listened thoughtfully before shrugging and giving Mary a nod. “We should tell dad that we want to live here now. He’ll need to know so he comes home to the right house.”

“Oh Dean,” Mary sighed, biting the nail on her thumb, trying to think of a way to explain that John wasn’t going to come home. 

“Mommy? What’s wrong? You’re crying.” Dean unfastened the arm of the booster seat and scrambled closer to comfort his mom.

“I’ll explain everything soon, okay baby? Let’s just get us all inside, there’s a fireplace and we’ll camp out in front of it, it’ll be fun.” Mary smiled through her tears, just needing a few more hours to wrap her head around the fact that she had to explain to her sons that their father would never come home again. She knew it had to be done soon, but with everything else that needed to be taken care of immediately, Mary knew it could wait a day or two. First things first, get the boys inside, get a fire going, and pull the emergency blankets out of the trunk, get the boys to sleep. 

Tomorrow she’d get the power turned on, the phone in service again with the old number hopefully, and make some phone calls.

She had work to do.

  
  
  


_ The next day _

Mary went to the coroner’s office, released John’s charbroiled remains to the crematorium transport, and filed the appropriate paperwork, officializing her husband’s death.

The bank was next. 

Well, it was the phone call she didn’t want to make. She’d been putting it off since she got the phone in service again at the house, so she was doing other things on her list before that.

The bank. It took half an hour to remove John’s names from the accounts, their joint checking, joint savings, transferring his personal checking and savings into her own after splitting some into both Dean and Sam’s college funds. She made a withdraw, and headed to the supermarket, getting everything she could make without having a cold refrigerator for a day or two, so sandwiches and chips, a cooler and pudding cups, applesauce, crackers and deli meats and cheeses for the cooler. She’d take the boys for ice cream later, not that Sam really ate ice cream as much as he rubbed it on his face and made himself sticky. 

A stockpile of diapers and other supplies for Sam and Dean were next, cleaning supplies for the house, blankets, pillows, sheets, she stopped at the local mattress store and ordered mattresses to be delivered to the house later that day, bought new sheets, then finally picked the boys up from Alice’s house, thanked her for watching them, and took the boys home.

The first thing she did that morning was to take her boys to Alice for them to have a playdate while she ran her errands. The second thing was getting the power company to turn the power back on. Next was the phone company. By the time she had run all her errands, it was mid-afternoon, they’d gone to the local diner for pancakes and bacon for breakfast, Dean had drenched his pancakes in syrup and coated his bacon in it, Sam had been happy with a bottle and some apple sauce, but that had been hours ago, and she was hungry. 

Despite being hungry, her stomach growling and gurgling at her, Mary felt no desire to eat and sate her body’s needs.

Mary followed Dean into the house, after making sure that the salt lines they’d glued in place decades ago were still intact, that the doorknob was still silver, and that the iron strip inside the door was still solid and not corroding, she’d deemed the house safe enough that she didn’t need to enter it in front of Dean. Last night she’d had Dean stand in the middle of the kitchen an iron devil’s trap hidden under the floorboards just under where the kitchen table had been.

Mr. Hill, the neighbor down the lane who had taken care of the grounds and kept people from trespassing for her, would be over soon. She’d talked to him this morning before they’d gone to breakfast, and he’d offered to help clean the house with her. He and his partner, Alfred, were good folks, Mary always liked Alfred, who’d give her a rose from his garden every day in the spring when she’d be walking home, leading for her to pick up the art of pressing flowers. The house needed the windows washed, floors swept and mopped, dusted, bathrooms scrubbed from top to bottom, basement swept up and the furnace checked; which she’d have to call the heating company to do tomorrow, kitchen scoured. 

Mary leaned against the counter, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things she had to do just to get them somewhere warm and clean to sleep. Sighing heavily, she picked up the phone and sent Dean off to read to Sam, he’d been practicing and getting better, and now he could read some books to Sammy, who would no doubt be able to read by two if Dean kept teaching him.

Knowing she needed to get the call over with, she dialed the number for the crematorium's second line, swallowing thickly and taking a drink out of the bottle of water she’d pulled out of the cooler she’d brought in, packed full of the essential cold items and juice boxes, a few cans of Coke, and bottles of water. While the phone rang she mentally ran down her checklist for the day and started running the water in the kitchen sink, making sure the water ran clean. Finally, the other end picked up.

“Better not have bad news for me, Jimmy, gettin’ real tired of your shit.” Came the rough voice of her cousin.

“It’s good to know Jimmy hasn’t changed then.”

“Who’s this? How’d you get this number? It’s unlisted.”

“Yeah, Chris, it is, it’s for hunters only, and first and foremost Campbell family emergencies. Shut your damn mouth and listen.” Mary snapped.

“Mary? Thought you’d left the life behind, no good traitor is what you are, you ain’t no Campbell.”

“I’m a better hunter than you, and you know it. Listen, this isn’t why I called. I have… a problem I guess.”

“Figure your own shit out cousin, you left the family behind, you ain’t gettin' our help.”

“It’s a Prince of Hell, Christian.”

There was dead silence before a low whistle could be heard.

“What’d you do.”

Mary sighed and rolled her lip between her teeth. “I… You know the night my parents were murdered?”

“Sure, same night you bailed and didn’t look back.”

She shifted her weight in the old kitchen chair, trying to ease some of the tension in her lower back. She’d have to get used to the feeling sooner or later, her family always did this to her. “It was him. He possessed my dad, killed mom, stabbed himself, and found me. John had proposed, I’d just said yes when I was yanked out of the car, the demon wearing my dad like a cheap suit. Yellow eyes glowing. John tried to save me, but he snapped his neck right then and there. Demon backed me into a deal, John lives, the demon gets something in return ten years later, uninterrupted access to my home. Yesterday was the ten-year mark. I tried to save daddy too, but y’know, demon.” Mary took a deep breath and pressed gently under her eyes to keep the tears from welling up any more than they already had. “I have two sons. Dean is four. Sam is six months.”

“Sounds like you’ve made your bed.”

“And I’ll lie in it when I’m ready to give up, but I’m gonna put some cleaner sheets on it first. I need help warding the house.”

“You set up at your folks’?”

“Yeah, same phone number, same address. And… I need to hunt. Small local stuff that won’t take me away more than a day, I can have Sam and Dean babysat, but I don’t want to leave them overnight.”

“What about your husband, he isn’t useless, right?”

“You guys just got John Winchester, last night. God, the baby monitor… I thought Sam just needed to be changed, or that he had a nightmare. Sent John to go take care of him so I could get one night of sleep, but the demon, he was there. He lit the nursery on fire, I just barely got Sam out. John...he was pinned to the ceiling, stomach cut open, the fire just bloomed out from him. The nursery is gone, the fire marshal hasn’t finished looking through the house yet, trying to deem if it’s sound enough for me to go in and see if there’s anything I can save.”

“Fine. We’ll let you know if there’s local stuff, ease you in with Salt’n Burns, you’ve got a position at the crematorium if you need it. Come next week, Wednesday. File the paperwork, we’ll get you on the payroll.”

“Thanks, Chris. I’ll be in, probably mid-morning.”

“We’ll be over tomorrow to help with security on the house, make sure it’s clean and ready.”

“Yeah, that’s what the rest of the day looks like. Got someone to fix up the hot water for me this morning. Gonna salt wash the porch until I can treat it right.”

“Good, now, this means we’re even now.”

“Suppose it does, you never did tell me how you ended up-”

“Bye Mary.”

She rolled her eyes at the sound of the click and the dial tone, hanging the phone back up before finding the supplies to start scrubbing the kitchen down. It was going to be a long day.

Four hours, twenty water changes, four bottles of Pine-Sol lemon, a whole six-count package of paper towels, two bottles of Windex, and twenty minutes of wrestling the new mattresses and boxsprings onto the old bed frames that she’d covered and kept here, and Mary and Mr. Mike Hill and his partner Alfred, had finally cleaned the house from top to bottom. Dean had helped by changing the water in the mop bucket for them and getting them paper towels, opening doors and keeping Sam content.

Alfred even made them dinner, which was a relief in itself, since Mary wasn’t a good cook, to begin with, and with how tired she was after everything, she wouldn’t have had it in herself to even order pizza.

Dean was ecstatic at having homemade fried chicken, mashed potatoes, baked apples, and even enjoyed the baked beans, probably because there was a pound of bacon in it, but still, a vegetable is a vegetable and getting Dean to eat them was like trying to do a root canal on an alligator.

After thanking the two men, she sent Dean upstairs to start a bath, thanking her luck that her little boy was so mature for his age. Mary was sure that if Dean weren’t as mature as he was, and as incredibly protective of Sam, she’d crash and burn and leave her sons with a barely functioning mother. But her boys needed her, they needed her to step up to bat. To beat the shit out of the things that go bump in the night to keep them safe.

Mary sighed, tired, just wanting to climb into bed and sleep for eight uninterrupted hours, but knowing she’d sleep four, wake up, feed Sam and change him, then sleep another two hours before she woke up anyway.

Between the money she’d saved the money John had saved, the money in their joint account and their separate checking accounts, she’d have enough to get their new home fixed up, pad their pantry and with careful budgeting, they’d have more than enough for bills and groceries for the next few months. When the insurance checks come in they’d be just fine. When John and Mary had been newlyweds, they both agreed to get life insurance, just if something should happen to one of them. A few months after they decided that Mary had found out she was pregnant with Dean. They’d been slowly and steadily earning the full payout of their policies.

There’d be money to take care of things while Mary got a paying job, hopefully, the opening Christian said about was an actual paying position. She didn’t want to have to dip too much into any savings. She still wanted her sons to have college funds. They could decide what to do with the money in their accounts when they turn eighteen and have decided on if they’d go to college or not. 

She gathered up some of the clothes she’d bought that day at the consignment shop a few towns over and took the new pajamas for Dean and Sam upstairs, her youngest on her hip and the shopping bag of clothes, soap, shampoos and new washcloths on her wrist. It took half an hour to get both Sam and Dean washed, into pajamas, and into bed. She had set up the crib in Dean’s room, the room right next to hers. When the boys were both finally sleeping, Mary drew herself a steaming hot bath, added lavender bath salts, lit a vanilla spice candle, added moisturizing bath oils, and made sure to have the softest towel and bathrobe laid out. In the quiet of the bathroom, the safety of her childhood home, warded and protected heavily with salt lines and iron door and window frames, she allowed herself to cry. 

Mary never properly mourned her parents. Maybe it was because she had been raised and forced into hunting, told she couldn’t do anything but hunt, marry a hunter, have kids and raise them as hunters and do the same thing to them, and for that, she resented her father. Samuel Campbell had been rigid when it came down to the outline of Mary’s life, having already planned it for her. 

The next morning came much earlier than she wanted. Her body was sore in spots that had never been sore before, not even with hunter training. She was awoken by Dean gently shaking her arm.

“Mommy someone’s at the door. An’ Sammy’s hungry. I already changed him and everything, I just can’t get him something to eat.”

Groaning she rubbed her eyes and wished she could sleep for another three or four hours, but knew that Sam needed to eat and so did Dean, and it was probably her cousin at the door. “Thanks, baby, go see if you can get some cartoons on the TV for you and Sammy okay?”

It took Mary two minutes to pull on a sports bra, a ratty tank top that used to be a Beatles shirt, worn blue jeans that probably needed to be scrapped to be used as material to patch other jeans, and a pair of socks. Nearly tripping on her way down the stairs, she finally heard the pounding on the front door that had no doubt freaked Dean out some by the look he had on his face when she woke up. “Jesus Christ, Chris calm down a little, gonna break the damn door and create more work to do.” She snapped as she opened the door.

Christian Campbell was a few years younger than her, having been almost six by the time he was born, but he was taller. A good 6’1” and leaning towards 200 now that he was in his 20’s and the teenage awkwardness that hit every guy as they grew like weeds but the muscle didn’t pack on as quickly as they grew, leaving them looking gangly and off-kilter. Mary remembered a much different Christian though, a small boy holding a hunting rifle that weighed as much as he did, was taller than him by four inches, baby fat still clinging to his face and stomach. There was still happiness shining in those eyes, but not now. They were the hard, cold, calloused and critical gaze that everyone raised as a hunter had.

“I told you we’d be here in the morning Mary, it’s morning.”

“Yeah, I can tell. It’s 5:30, on a Thursday, I’ve spent the last two nights working non-stop through the day and the night. Sorry I didn’t go to sleep at 3 and wake up at the crack of dawn. Hell, you woke my kids up, Sam’s never up this early unless something’s-” Mary stopped and ran her fingers through her blonde waves. Fishing around in her pocket she pulled out the coins and tossed them at Christian, only letting him inside once he didn’t sizzle. “I need to get the boys breakfast before we can get started on anything. You eat yet? Don’t answer, you’re eating breakfast.” She shook her finger at him as she headed off to the kitchen, moving around and gathering everything she needed. A package of bacon, maple syrup, brown sugar, apples, oatmeal, cinnamon, cloves, and milk. Soon she had the bacon crisping in the cast iron skillet that had survived these years in the cabinets and oatmeal cooking on the stovetop, a bottle heating for Sam and bowls at the ready. “Coffee is in the cabinet there, start a pot. I’m no good without some caffeine with this much sleep.”

Soon the coffee maker she’d picked up yesterday was gurgling and sputtering, the rich scent of dark roast starting to permeate the air. 

“D’you know where the wards are? Should check ‘em first, see what needs to be done and what can wait, or we can just redo it all. George and Carol said they’d come by if we needed extra hands.”

“George can’t tell a tulpa sigil from Enochian, why would I want him warding my house?”

“He’s damn good at hex bags.”

“Suppose that’s a decent trade-off. Hate doing those things creeps me out with the bones and stuff.”

“Don’t forget the bodily fluids.”

“Ugh, thanks, that just made it harder to swallow.”

“No problem.”

“Devil’s trap under the porch, carved into the wood, Enochian in the door frames. Anansi in the baseboards. Iron in the window frames and doors. Took the silver door handles off the outside doors when I left this place outside of my care, put those heavy-duty ones on. Gonna melt down enough silver to just coat those in it instead.” Mary listed as she moved cooked bacon onto a paper towel-lined plate and raw into the pan. “There are protection spells carved into the beams of the house, they don’t need touching up because they’re inlaid with iron and silver, those’ll never change. I just need help superheating the iron and salting it all, it takes two people at minimum.” After checking to make sure everything was done, Mary turned off the heat and started serving Christian while calling for Dean to bring Sam with him.

They settled at the table, Mary holding Sam on her lap and slowly feeding him oatmeal, as Dean eyed Christian warily while shoving as much bacon as he could get away with into his face. “Who’re you?” Dean finally huffed out, pouting slightly that Mary had confiscated the plate of bacon until Dean had eaten at least most of his oatmeal.

“Dean! That’s not the polite way to ask-”

“It’s fine. Tell ‘im.”

“Dean, this is my cousin, Christian. He’s here to help me finish setting up the house so it’s nice and safe for us.”

“So… he’s a cop?”

“No, but he’s very good at making things safe. Now finish your oatmeal, if you help wash dishes we’ll go out for dinner tonight.”

“Can we get burgers?”

“Sure, we just gotta try to keep Sam from stealing french fries again.” Mary chuckled before switching Sam to the bottle she’d prepared, seeing that he wouldn’t be finishing the oatmeal today.

“Sammy likes pancakes more mom, we should make pancakes on Saturday like we always do. You’re joining us, right? Saturday breakfasts are for family.” Dean prompted, looking at Christian and giving him a stubborn and pleading look.

Mary and Christian looked at each other, slightly off-put by Dean’s insistent question. A silent conversation went on for a minute before Mary gave her cousin a shrug. “You’re welcome to, I’m used to feeding four. It’ll be nice to not have extra until I’m used to cooking for three.”

“Fine. I’ll be here Saturday, I’ll bring bacon.” Christian sighed, finishing his oatmeal and rinsing his bowl.

“You still make your own?”

“Yeah, you got a preference?”

“It’s been a real bitch finding good applewood smoked bacon if you’ve got it.”

“You got it, apple. I’ll bring enough to feed grown hunters, seeing as this one seems to inhale bacon like it’ll disappear.” Christian chuckled and ruffled Dean’s mop of honey-blond hair. “Need to get his hair trimmed up though, gettin’ in his eyes won’t do anyone any good.”

“I’ll trim it when I get things more settled, still haven’t cracked open the barn or shed. Then I gotta figure out other things. A haircut isn’t the end of the world Chris.” They washed dishes, Christian rinsing them before handing them to Mary to scrub, rinsing them from the soap and handing them to Dean to dry and place gently into the drying rack to finish air-drying.

After the mess from breakfast was cleaned up, Mary sent Dean off to play with Sam, telling him to try and not come too close to them while they worked. It took all afternoon to superheat all the iron and salt it all, seal it in, and clean up. “Well, looks like everything’s good. Man, I’m wiped. You coming with us to get burgers and shakes? The place in town makes some amazing shakes.” Mary offered after coming back downstairs in a clean shirt and flannel, Dean already dressed and ready while holding Sam who was also dressed in warm baby clothes, ready to head out.

“Nah, long drive back and I gotta return the blowtorch to dad, said something about a wendigo trap he was working on and needing it back soon. They’ve got a problem up in Maine, too many hikers went missing last fall just before the frost.” Christian shook his head and shrugged on his jacket. “They’re hoping to be able to find a better way of catching the things besides running after them into a cave or mine.”

“Yeah, I still hate those things. Help me get them into the car before you go?”

Soon Mary had the boys into their car seats and they were following Christian’s truck down the lane before going their separate ways, Mary to the right and Christian to the left.

“He’s good now, but he won’t be in the future.” Dean piped up from the back seat, hand resting lightly on Sam’s chest as his fingers were played with, Sam’s eyes were far more intelligent than what one would expect of a six-month-old. 

“Dean! That was mean, we don’t talk about family that way. Besides, you don’t know that the future isn’t set in stone, it’s more like water. Where’d you get that idea anyway?”

“Sammy told me.”

With that, Mary felt her blood freeze in her veins. Those words haunted her late into the night and through the coming weeks. 

_ Sammy told me. He’s good now, but he won’t be in the future. _

_ Sammy told me. _


	2. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journal entries from Mary, Sam, and Dean as things happen through the years until 1994.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is when Sam and Dean start their relationship. For anyone who's squicked by that, I'm sorry. Train is at the station, you're welcome to get off.

_ April 30th, 1984 _

It took a long time for Mary to establish a routine. As promised she started with a job at the Campbell Family Crematorium transporting remains. Thankfully she was able to have other moms watch her boys while she worked. She was always done by the time school let out, so she’d pick Dean up from school, then Sam. They’d always chatter in the back seat, Sam just starting to grasp words well enough to babble words that made sense to Dean. She swore that her boys had a telepathic link. Dean always knew what Sam needed, even before Sam would fuss. It had Mary worried, but only mildly so for now, since it could just be a close brotherly bond or how Dean was dealing with the trauma of losing their home and father. That was six months ago, almost to the day. 

Sam’s first birthday was approaching, and it seemed like Dean was more excited than both Mary and Sam. It took some convincing, and a lot of research into it, and a favor, but Mary agreed with Dean that Sam should have a chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream icing and fresh strawberries on top. She’d contacted an old high school friend who had his own bakery, asked him to help her make the cake right, and once she had it down Mary felt pride bloom in her chest. That’s how she found herself in the kitchen, freshly redone with more modern appliances and new paint, windows open to let in the breeze and pulling in the mid-spring scented air and making the smell of chocolate cake baking in the oven waft through the house; meaning Dean would be showing up any second with Sam in his arms. Mary was humming softly and finishing mixing the icing together when she heard the floor creak a little, not hearing Dean’s footsteps; he’d gotten very good at walking quietly through the house. “You can’t eat any icing until after I’ve covered the cake, Dean. And that’ll be a while since it’s still baking.” Mary chided over her shoulder as she felt Dean’s presence move about the room.

“Awww! C’mon mom, just a little? How d’you know if it’s vanilla enough if you don’t taste it?” Dean pleaded, coming to her side and giving her the biggest, greenest puppy dog eyes ever. If she were a weaker person, she’d give in right then. 

She sighed fondly and swiped a finger through the fluffy icing and booped Dean’s nose with the sugary spread. “If you can lick that off then I’ll let you have the beaters after I’m done. Now did you finally figure out what you want to get Sam for his birthday? We only have two days to get it.”

Dean looked at his little brother in his arms and sat down in his favored chair at the table, sat Sam in his lap and covered his ears. “Sammy wants a dog, I wanna get him a dog.”

Mary frowned and thought about it. “Maybe in a few years Dean, Sam’s still very small to take care of a dog or puppy, and so are you. I’ll be too busy with other things to take care of a puppy and both of you and Sam. I’ll make you a deal when Sam turns four we’ll get a puppy, but you two have to take care of it. That means you need to learn everything there is to know about dogs, and you need to start on the studies I did at your age. You do well and help me teach Sam when he gets old enough and we’ll add a dog.”

Dean thought hard for a minute, tongue sticking out and trying to lick the icing off his nose and only managing a glancing swipe every few wiggles, then looked at Sam, looked back at Mary and nodded. “Deal. The icing is really good mom.”

“Good, now go play and make sure you wash your nose after so it isn’t sticky.”

Dean giggled and headed off into the living room with Sam, talking happily to the younger before she heard the telltale sounds of Dean playing with Sam. Mary felt relieved that Dean was so willing to play with the same toys as Sam whereas she saw other siblings with the same age gap playing with different toys, but Dean always played with Sammy, always. It was concerning that Dean would pick his brother over kids his own age when given the choice.

  
  


_ They’re just close, that will keep them safe in the future. Don’t worry about it. _Mary told herself as she pulled the cakes out of the oven and set them on the cooling racks and moved onto slicing strawberries.

_ December 15th, 1984 _

Christmas was fast approaching, Mary was working on research for another hunter while she worked her shift at the crematorium. The business was booming, not that was a great thing for the families that were entrusting their loved ones to the Campbell family, but it was great for paychecks and it meant a ton of salt and burns were done before they were even actually needed. 

She was trying to figure out just what exactly she could get Dean for Christmas that would be great for a future hunter that was still a little boy, but she could only come up with knives. Knives probably weren’t the best idea for a five-year-old, Mary looked into making protective jewelry for her boys. Dean could wear that kind of stuff now, Sam would have to wait another year or so.

Writing down a list of things she’d need to make the things she set the gift idea to the side and went back to the research. Some hunter in South Dakota had a problem with a plague of poltergeists and the usual ritual wasn’t working long.

Finally, there was a break and she wrote down the information, neat and careful so it would go through the fax legibly.

Mary punched in the landline number she’d been given before reviewing the note.

“Singer.” A gruff voice huffed through the phone.

“Robert Singer? It’s Mary Winchester from Campbell Family Crematorium. I have the information you need.”

“Lemme find a pen and paper.”

“If you’ve got fax capability I can send it to you that way.”

“Fax machine is broken, been tinkerin’ with it all goddamn day.”

“Well shit, anyway.” Mary conveyed the information and let him know that she’d be happy to help again.

“Yeah, a nice change of havin’ someone help me instead of helpin’ someone.”

“I know the feeling. Well, you have a nice Christmas if I don’t hear from you before then, good luck.”

Mary spent the holiday with her boys, Dean was happily sipping hot chocolate after playing in the snow with Sam and making a snowman no bigger than Sam himself, who was starting to toddle but ended up on his butt more than his feet in the snow. They had chocolate chip cookies made from the premade cookie dough she’d picked up at the store, the tree was small and a little ugly, but it was still Christmas.

  
  


_ January 19th, 1985 _

Mary was taking her first out of state case since John died. A Werewolf that had been terrorizing Valentine, Nebraska, not far out from Fort Niobrara National Wildlife Reserve. It didn’t hurt that Mary had noticed that the cattle deaths not far off from her route on the way. Sure, she was still a little stiff with the song and dance, but she needed answers more than she needed to take things slow.

_ January 22nd, 1985 _

** _Mary’s journal_ **

** _I’ve had a demon locked up tight in the shed out back, iron devil’s trap and surrounded by salt. I’ll have to stock up on the rock salt again._ **

** _Nothing useful, yet. _ **

** _The iron nails through the hands and feet and salted holy water drip should get results soon, hopefully._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

  
  


_ February 14th, 1985 _

** _The demon is long gone, sent it off to Hell and told it to stay there._ **

** _Dean is working on field stripping and getting better._ **

** _Sam is walking._ **

** _Dean lost his front tooth last week and has been whistling through the gap and driving me crazy. I’ve taken the tape of Disney’s Robin Hood from him and hidden it in my underwear drawer, hopefully, he won’t look there, I can’t imagine hearing Dean whistle that song anymore, he’s really bad at it._ **

** _Dean came home from school today with valentine’s from his classmates, he told me he doesn’t want to keep any of them. He also didn’t give any out, but I saw him making a card, I don’t know what he did with it._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ February 14th, 1985, 19:52 hours _

** _Well, I found out what Dean did with the card. He gave it to Sam, which should be really cute, but something about the whole thing rubs me the wrong way, just like when you read something in the paper about something and it turns out to be a case, even if it’s just something vaguely odd to a civilian. _ **

** _Hunter gut, as dad called it._ **

** _Something about the two of them together, it’s just not… not completely right. It feels almost supernatural, but not malevolent in any way. It’s pure. Just...odd._ **

** _Maybe I’m imagining things, or maybe I’m going crazy. _ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ April 9th, 1985 _

** _Pulled out an interesting tidbit out of a demon that was being used as a blood bank by a nest of vampires._ **

** _The Colt is real._ **

  
  


_ May 20th, 1985 _

** _Sam is still glued to Dean’s side, wherever Dean goes, Sam does too. Dean’s six now, and it’s a little odd that he rather hang out with Sam over kids at school. I’ll be homeschooling the boys once they are old enough to start the real training. So far Dean’s learned to field strip a gun and has been working on flashcards I made for him to learn monsters, the signs to look for and what kills them. He’s really smart, thank god, I’ll need Dean to essentially be able to do things himself when I start Sam’s homeschooling. Sam will still go to kindergarten, first and second grade just like Dean did. Next year I’ll start training Dean to handle knives. Christian has offered to help, I told him that it’d be fine once the boys could handle basics, as long as he wasn’t fighting the boys full strength until they turned 11._ **

** _I spend most days digging for leads on The Colt. Bobby Singer, another hunter I helped, he’s joined my cause, looking for The Colt to take down a Prince of Hell. He promised to ask around, see if anyone in his contacts knew anything at all. Bobby is a good man, a great hunter, and a fantastic friend. The Campbell family… Never really felt the need to be a true part of the hunter community, my ask for help hasn’t been well received by a lot of the hunters out there. I hope we catch a break soon._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ October 15th, 1985 _

** _Dean is so excited about Halloween, even though he knows that it’s one of the biggest nights for supernatural creature activity. Dean is going as Batman, and Sam is going at Robin. We have the new gate at the turning point for the lane now, Christian and his hunter friend Jesse finished putting it in last week before the frost; salted iron with silver-plated locks and handle. I can’t wait to take them trick-or-treating._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ October 28th, 1985 _

** _There’s a nest of vampires just outside of town. I guess since the Campbell family wasn’t actively living here the creepy-crawlies have decided that it’s fair game for hunting grounds. Game on motherfuckers. Here comes Winchester._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ October 30th, 1985 _

** _The vampires have more bodies than I can handle on my own, around 20. I have to call in other hunters. They started setting up a blood farm, luring in humans and using them like cattle. _ **

** _Dean’s sharpened every machete so much it’ll go through every vamp neck like a hot knife through butter. _ ** **** _  
  
_

** _Other hunters will be here tonight, we’re going out early in the morning to get rid of the nest before the trick-or-treating starts. It’d be prime hunting grounds for vampires, being mistaken for a costume that’s well done, stupid teenagers being stupid teenagers, children watched but maybe not as closely as parents should. All the ingredients for a shit-show._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ October 31st, 1985 _

** _The vampire nest is gone. The good news is that the blood-stained hunting gear can be passed off as fake blood and I can go as a “vampire hunter” with the boys to trick-or-treating without having to change my clothes._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ November 2nd, 1985 _

** _I’m drunk. The boys were silent today. They’re in bed now. They share a room, they both insisted at some point yesterday. Took all day to arrange the furniture into my old room to accommodate them both._ **

** _At least Sam is better at potty training than Dean was._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ December 26th, 1985 _

** _We went up to South Dakota to meet Bobby Singer. He’s a good man, great hunter, amazing researcher. Offered to help me with the boys if I needed to hunt. I hate to admit it, but I don’t trust my cousin to watch over my sons, sure, he’d keep them safe from supernatural threats, but he’s not exactly...nurturing in any way. He’d probably spend the entire time drilling them, and Sam hasn’t even finished potty training yet. He barely talks too, only really to Dean, and me when Dean’s at school. _ **

** _Sam’s not shy, per se, just...quiet. He watches everything, everyone, learning things that I don’t see. I think Sam is much smarter than we could ever imagine. He just knows things._ **

** _Once, he was with me as I was working at the crematorium, at the front desk, and he said to me very quietly “mama, the man o’re there, he’s gonna hurt her. He has hurt her before.” Turns out, two days later he’d beaten his wife to death. The man had a long rap sheet full of domestic violence reports from his wife, his neighbors, his wife’s coworkers, friends, and family._ **

** _I think there’s more to Sam than I could ever understand. That anyone could even begin to understand. Except for Dean. Dean always understands Sammy._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ March 7th, 1991 _

** _I’ve been hunting almost non stop. Sam is trained just as well as Dean, and Dean is lethal with a spoon. Dean’s 11 now. No. 12, Dean’s 12. Time has...blurred. The boys help with hunts, do the research and prep the car, the kit that I’ll need if I’ll need backup. Dean killed his first werewolf last month. Valentine’s day. He cut out the heart of the thing and gave it to Sam. _ **

** _Sam preserved it in a jar. It sits on a shelf between their beds._ **

** _They both have passed the graduation test for homeschooling. My boys have graduated from high school. Neither can receive their diploma until the age of fourteen though. Dean will have his next year, Sam in another four and a half. They’re both so… dangerously smart. I’m proud, any parent would be a fool not to be. But Sam and Dean are still ...too close. I swear they sleep in the same bed, Sam’s is always made. Sam just claims that he gets up earlier than Dean and makes his bed. I don’t know what to think. I just hope...that it doesn’t become something it shouldn’t. _ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ May 20th, 1992 _

** _I met up with Bobby Singer, we left the boys at his house in Sioux Falls. It’s warded and filled with everything they need. There’s a wendigo out here that’s been doing some serious damage. It’s odd, having them this far west, not unheard of, just really uncommon._ **

** _Dean takes care of Sam more than I do anyway, and they prefer it that way._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ October 20th, 1992 _

** _I walked into their bedroom late at night. I was right. They sleep in the same bed._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ April 2nd, 1993 _

** _I’ve been leaving the boys on their own more now, and it looks like they like it that way. _ **

** _I wonder if I should have them attend regular high school. They’re so close and with homeschooling… they don’t see other kids their own age, not often enough. Most hunters either don’t have kids, for one reason or another or don’t bring their kids with them. I understand, but it would be better for Sam and Dean to have some sort of connection to other people their own age, see what regular sibling relationships are like. I worry that they’re developing an unhealthy bond. I love them regardless, any mother should love her children unconditionally, but if a romantic relationship comes from this closeness...I don’t think I could handle it._ **

** _What I wouldn’t give to have John here._ **

** _ ** _-MW_ ** _ **

_ January 23rd, 1995_

  
  


Sam was perched on the counter, watching Mary curse the pie recipe she’d attempted at least two dozen times over the past two weeks. 90% of the pies had been so disgusting that she and Sam both had looked at one another, horrified expressions on their faces. Those pies were thrown out. The other ones were mushed up some and used as small game food, Sam would take the pies out to the tree line, walk a few yards off of their usual trails, drop off a spoonful of pie, go about thirty feet down the trail, deposit more pie and continue that pattern until it was gone.

“Mom, maybe it’s time to give in. Let me try.” Sam urged, taking the rolling pin away from Mary, resting his hand on her shoulder and guiding her to the kitchen table. 

“I don’t know why I thought I could make a pie. I’ve never been a good cook, much less a baker. Have at it sweetie, let me know if you need anything. I’m going to go dig a little deeper into that book I borrowed from Bobby last month, we’re making the trip up next month, I want to have it finished and my notes done before then.” Mary sighed, wiping her hand through her hair while the other one patted her flour-coated jeans, a streak of flour not brushed off earlier leaving Mary’s golden hair looking like it would in another ten years or so, lighter, possibly gray. It was almost impossible to tell if their mom would start going gray in her late thirties since Sam and Dean had no grandparents to turn a reference to. 

Sam had just learned about the supernatural world a few years ago when he turned six, Mary had sat him down and told him everything he needed to know. 

Since then Sam had dedicated himself to learning everything that could help keep them safe, at home or on a hunt. He also made sure to learn things that would make things just a little more special when they were home.

Mary couldn’t cook. Or bake. Dean could cook, but not bake well. Sam could bake, but cooking was a foreign concept. So, Dean usually made dinner, Mary did dishes, Sam would make desserts. But for whatever reason, Mary had decided that she’d make Dean a pie for his birthday.

First attempt Sam was sure she had added three times as much salt as the recipe called for. The second attempt the crust was black, the bottom was soggy and the filling wasn’t gooey. Just wet. This was attempt fifteen. Sam had watched her from the beginning, he was pretty sure she just overmixed it, but still, this was the fourth trip to the store and he was sure that the check out girl was worried or thought that they were making enough pies to feed a small army.

“I’ve got this mom, why don’t you go test Dean and keep him out of the kitchen for a while? Don’t let him know I’m making the pie.” Sam kissed his mom’s cheek and set to work on the crust, it would need to chill overnight in the fridge.

The next day, after a dinner of steaks, smashed potatoes with garlic and parsley, and grilled asparagus that Sam and Mary made Dean eat after Sam had spent the time outside in the January cold grilling all three steaks and the veggies, Sam pulled a perfectly golden pie out of the oven and set it on the table. A swift _ smack _ could be heard as Dean reached for the pie with his fork, at least using his brain enough not to go and grab a pie fresh from the oven with bare hands. Sam glared at his brother and gave him a stern pout. “Not yet. If it’s cut now the crust on top will collapse. Gotta wait at least ten minutes. I need to go get your present, but I need to know I can trust you to not dig in yet.”

They managed through the rest of the night without a problem. Sam had gotten Dean new Batman comics and a new hunting knife, silver and a better handle than the previous one since Dean had been fussing about how his other one was poorly attached to its handle. The new one was a pure work of art, Sam had sharpened it himself, the handle was made out of the bone of a Black Dog, protective runes and symbols had been carefully etched into the bone, and sealed in.

Mary topped off Dean’s gifts with his own gun, a Colt M1911A1 with ivory grips and filigree etching along the barrel and body. It was a gorgeous gun. Sam promised that he’d spend the day doing target practice with Dean tomorrow, making the older smile like Sam had promised him the moon.

Finally, they went to bed after Dean had eaten enough pie for three people, only two slices left in the pie dish, covered carefully with plastic wrap and left near the coffee pot. It was late, nearly midnight. Mary had already poked her head in to say goodnight and make sure that they weren’t going to get up in the middle of the night to raid the fridge or the library.

Sam sat on his bed, chewing on his lip nervously, something he’d picked up in grade school before Mary had started homeschooling him as well. Dean couldn’t help but watch, fixed on how the soft, candy pink tip of Sam’s tongue could be seen every so often, soothing the reddened and bruising flesh of Sam’s lip.

“De?”

“Yeah?”

“I have one more present for you, but you have to close your eyes. Okay?”

Dean hummed his confirmation as he sat up, facing Sam’s side of the room and closing his eyes, waiting patiently. He could hear Sam moving around, the rustling of fabric, soft padding footsteps, more rustling, then the dip of Sam’s weight on the bed. The barest of touch guided Dean’s chin up some, thin, calloused fingers so careful with his older brother. Dean could feel something invade the space around his head, not touch, then the weight and presence of a cord could be felt on his neck, something heavy weighing it down in the middle.

“You can open them now.” Sam prompted, only after Dean heard his footsteps retreat to the other bed across the room. 

Most nights they slept apart now since Dean had started waking up hard in his pajama pants, Sam’s name on his lips, and cock far too close to his sweet, innocent little brother’s virgin ass. Dean had insisted on it, and Sam had reluctantly agreed. There were still nights that they ended up in the same bed. Those were usually the nights one of them had the same nightmare. Their dad, burning on the ceiling of the nursery in their old home, screaming and reaching out. Those nights were hard on both brothers.

Dean opened his eyes and looked at the necklace that was around his neck, sitting not too far below his collarbone, he’d have no trouble tucking it into a shirt or anything for when they ran their miles. It was a weird, funky looking tribal head with little horns sticking out of an even weirder hat. “Thanks, Sam, I love it.” He fiddled with the little brass head, a smile that could illuminate a dark room on his face. “Hey, c’mon, let’s get some sleep so we can get out early and spend the day doing target practice.” Dean turned down his bed and looked over at the younger, eyebrow raised and cocking his head to the side some.

“Yeah, sounds awesome.” Sam grinned back, turning off the light and crawling into Dean’s bed, practically gluing himself to the older’s side. Not much of a choice, fitting two growing boys into a double-sized bed.

“Goodnight Sammy, thanks for making the pie,” Dean whispered, his own calloused fingers lightly twining into Sam’s hair.

“G’night De, happy birthday.”

_ January 30th, 1995_

** _Sam’s Journal_ **

** _I almost gave in on Dean’s birthday. I didn’t, I just gave him the amulet, but I keep thinking about what it would be like._ **

** _I want Dean as more than a brother, but it’s terrifying to think he wouldn’t feel the same. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to resist, but mom said about us going to high school together next year. Maybe regular socializing will help. If not...well, I’ll have to look into colleges soon enough, I can wait that long._ **

** _I hope._ **

** _ ** _-SW_ ** _ **

_ February 2nd, 1995_

** _Dean’s Journal_ **

** _Fuck. I thought, just...I thought that Sam was going to kiss me on my birthday when he gave me the amulet. I wanted him to. I want him to. I need to know. It’s so messed up, I’m so fucked up and Sammy deserves so much more than me._ **

** _ ** _-D_ ** _ **

  
  
  
  
  


_ February 13th, 1995_

** _Sam’s Journal_ **

** _I’m going to do it. I’m going to kiss Dean tomorrow. God, I just hope I don’t get punched. Or worse. I packed a runaway bag while Dean was making dinner, I’ve hidden it under my dirty laundry, just to be prepared if things go terribly wrong._ **

** _The bag has all the hunter essentials, plus regular stuff. A few books in there too. I know how long it takes to walk to the nearest bus station, and from there I’d head to Bobby I guess. _ **

** _He’s a good hunter, good father figure I suppose. If I ask him not to tell anyone I’m there, I know he’ll do it. At least, I hope I know that I could’ve read into what he said to me last time we were there wrong._ **

** _Either way, I’m going to do it. _ **

** _I’m going to tell Dean. I’m going to kiss him and confess._ **

** _I know it’s messed up. I know it’s illegal. I know that the Bible says it’s a sin, but Adam and Eve’s children had to have sex to populate the earth so I think maybe the Bible has a lot of hypocrisy and some things can and should be ignored. A bunch of things already are, so why not gay incest?_ **

** _Jesus, fuck. I am so messed up. Maybe I should just go. _ **

** _ ** _-SW_ ** _ **

  
  
  


_ February 14th, 1995 07:59 _

** _Sam’s Journal_ **

** _I’m too nervous. I’m just going to end up throwing up. I already have when I woke up, Dean was still asleep and so was mom. I’m going to do it right before bed, that way if I have to run I have the cover of darkness to keep Dean from seeing which direction I run in._ **

** _Plus I’m going to run in the opposite direction for a little before going to the bus station, just in case._ **

** _Fuck._ **

** _ ** _-SW_ ** _ **

_ February 14th, 199513:41 _

** _I can’t do this._ **

** _ ** _-SW_ ** _ **

_ February 14th, 1995 20:53 _

** _I didn’t do it. I was going to do it when I gave Dean the Valentine’s Day card I made for him, I sat too close, brushed against him, bit my lip, every flirty thing that I’ve seen girls do that holds Dean’s gaze...but he kept his eyes on the card. I couldn’t…._ **

** _Fuck me._ **

** _ ** _-SW_ ** _ **

_ February 14th, 1995 23:45 _

** _I grew a pair and did it. I kissed Dean._ **

** _I freaked out when he tensed up, thought he was going to push me away to deck me. I was running halfway across the back yard before I heard him running after me. Got to the tree line and then he caught me, fucker launched himself and tackled me to the ground. My ribs are sore, I’ll have some bruises, but Dean kissed me after that._ **

** _We decided that we’re gonna be together._ **

** _We know some things aren’t going to be normal about our relationship. Like Dean will still have to keep up appearances as a ladies man. He growled when I told him he’d still have to do that._ **

** _Dean is insisting we go slow though. He told me he won’t have sex with me until I’m sixteen, and I’m alright with that. At least, I’m alright with it now. I probably will want that to change in a few years though._ **

** _Still, I’m happy._ **

** _ ** _-SW_ ** _ **

_ February 14th, 1995 23:58 _

** _Dean’s Journal_ **

** _Sam kissed me tonight. I was so surprised I froze. He was out the back door before I was even moving. Caught him right as he hit the tree line and kissed him stupid._ **

** _Cussed him out for trying to run before I could react. Everything’s good now though, Sam and I are together. We’ll have to start keeping our journals in things mom can’t accidentally get into though. Gotta admit though, as happy as I am that Sam and I are a thing now, I’m not floating on Cloud Nine. Sam reminded me that I have to look like I’m still interested in girls, to help keep our relationship under wraps. Broke my fuckin’ heart to think about doing that to my baby. But he’s right._ **

** _We’re gonna talk more about things next time mom leaves us on our own. Shouldn’t be too long before then, mom seems like she and Uncle Bobby have a.../thing/ together (EW but okay mom you’re happy), she gets antsy when we haven’t been up to Sioux Falls in a while, I’ll just send her up there next time, make some excuse why Sammy and I will stay here._ **

** _I’m just happy I get to sleep with my baby in my arms and wake him up with kisses like I’d dreamed of doing for years now._ **

** _ ** _-D_ ** _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sam and Dean are together now, a tender relationship in the most delicate of stages. Next chapter will have the actual scene of when Sam kissed Dean, the aftermath of said kiss, and some other stuff I haven't completely worked out yet. 
> 
> Please remember: Dean is freshly 16 and Sam is still 11, Sam's birthday WILL be covered in the next chapter. As mentioned in Sam's journal entry, there will be no sex between the boys until Sam is 16.
> 
> I know I wrote that Mary had Sam and Dean take the graduation test for homeschooling, and that they passed it, but she's still going to send them to public high school to work on their socializing skills, something critical for hunters that Sam and Dean are lacking in.


	3. Tender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 5282

_ February 14th, 1995 20:10 _

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, fidgeting with the sleeve of his thermal shirt where it stuck out from under the oversized flannel, one of Dean’s old ones that he outgrew a few years ago. It was getting a little snug on Sam now, and when he outgrew it, it would be used to patch up old jeans or line them to make them warmer for the cold months and the long hunts that came with bitter cold. There was a button that he fiddled with, it was getting loose; Mary wasn’t the best at buttons, whenever Dean replaced them they would stay for years, even under Sam’s button abuse. The button didn’t match the rest, it was white with red peppermint swirling on it, the rest of the buttons on the shirt were either tortoiseshell or black, some had been replaced by Mary and some by Dean. By far, this was Sam’s favorite button to fiddle with when he was nervous, twisting the red and white swirl was almost hypnotic and distracted Sam enough to keep him from losing the contents of his stomach. 

His grab bag was packed, tucked under a pile of Dean’s dirty laundry that had spilled over their shared hamper, it was Dean’s turn to do the laundry even though Sam had already picked all of the important clothes out of the dirty and washed them last week, his thermal underlayers and prime layering shirts, thick socks and hats, all washed and neatly folded and rolled into his bag. He had another bag packed and hidden in the barn, he’d come back for it in a few weeks.

Sam sighed heavily and flopped back against his mattress, closing his eyes and willing his mind into submission, reminding himself that he was thinking further ahead than he needed to as of that very moment. He chickened out on Dean’s birthday, but this time he was going to kiss Dean. It was Valentine’s Day, it was the perfect time to do it. Well, it would be if they weren’t brothers, getting your first kiss on Valentine’s Day had to be some sort of cliche that people actually  _ liked _ , right? It was cute. At least Sam thought so.

Dean’s footsteps were quiet, but heavy on the steps as he climbed them to their bedroom. Last year their mom had suggested they have separate rooms, but they both calmly and politely told her no. The few times they’d slept in different rooms they had barely slept. Sam snorted to himself, a bitter and sad sound even to his own ears. 

“Something buggin’ you Sammy?” Dean quirked an eyebrow at the younger hunter as he walked into their shared room, pulling off his overshirt and t-shirt in one go as he walked further into the room, the amulet that Sam had given him for his birthday a few weeks ago bouncing against his chest as it was freed from the tangle of cotton. 

“‘S nothing De, don’t worry about it.” Sam shrugged off his brother’s concerned frown and rolled onto his stomach, fishing his current book of the week out from where it had landed under the head of his bed. Somehow  _ The Hobbit _ had managed to wedge itself between the corner post and the slats in the headboard and was now firmly in place, making Sam grunt as he tried to free the book without harming its delicate pages.

Dean couldn’t tear his eyes off the sight of his baby brother, on his hands and knees, grunting and stretched out, tugging at the book and not paying any mind to the slowly growing expanse of petal-soft skin. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry enough to spit sand and jeans tightening.

Sam finally got the pages free from the small gap and grunted happily, a small, triumphant smirk on his lips as he finally rolled over onto his side, content to read for the next while longer. 

Dean forced his eyes away from Sam’s still exposed midsection and focused on changing into his pajamas to lounge comfortably in bed, he had a new car magazine that had an article about 60s cars and the troubles of fixing them now thirty years later, he was hoping for some tips and ideas about taking care of Baby, tucked away in the barn to keep her in good condition until Dean’s birthday next year.

Mary couldn’t bring herself to drive the car, it meant too much, and every time she took her to the garage to be inspected she had to set the whole day aside, knowing she’d spend at least an hour in the car, crying as she was assaulted with memories of her late husband. Dean had been left the car because Mary knew it meant as much to Dean as it had John. Baby was family, she’s worth every penny they paid to keep her in mint condition, and with Bobby Singer as a friend, they paid less than they would if they had taken it to someone else. Every trip to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Dean would spend over half of it in Bobby’s garage, going over the Impala with a fine-toothed comb, replacing and repairing, repainting and finishing, cleaning out the interior and adding warding so only those who the boys considered family could enter the car without Sam or Dean. Dean and Bobby had a great laugh watching a hunter friend of Bobby’s turn different colors with each attempt to enter the sleek black metal of the Impala without Dean’s invitation.

Dean thought back to the warding and couldn’t help but think of other things that they should add to make the Impala even safer. She’d be their hunting companion, their home, their base, and their fortress, they would need to be comfortable for long periods, safe from monsters and demons trying to get inside when they retreat to get their bearings and regroup. 

“What do you think about adding more sigils to Baby? Something to help keep hex bags off of her. Witches are nasty enough without planting those pieces of fuckery on my girl.” Dean commented, not noticing that Sam was only partly paying attention to Dean and barely paying attention to his book. 

“Sounds great, Dean.” Sam hummed distractedly, barely reading the page in front of him.

Eventually, they fall into a comfortable silence; the only sounds being soft sighs, the rustle of their clothes scraping against the sheets as they shift their weight, even breathing and the turn of pages. The familiarity of the atmosphere put Sam’s nervous mind at ease. A few hours passed and finally, Dean was yawning, Sam sat up and glanced over at the alarm clock. 

_ 23:00 _ the red numbers glowed faintly in the dim lighting of their bedroom.

_ ‘Better now than waking him up and trying it. Damn ninja reflexes are not the best combination with a grumpy riser’, _ Sam told himself. It wouldn’t do him any good to have Dean only partly awake or even mostly asleep. ‘ _ Here goes everything, I guess. Fuck fuck fuck. Okay, just don’t throw up.’  _

“Hey, De?” Sam stretched and sat up, one hand subtly sliding under his pillow and pulling out the card he’d made for his brother. It’d taken days to make it just right and some begging for their mom to take him to get the right kind of paper.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“I uh… I have a card for you.” He held out the card, it was simple, black cardstock, some red foil paper wedged two layers of it, and in silver ink was the Impala, outlined perfectly with steady lines and careful detail.

Dean tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed and a pout on his lips. “My birthday was weeks ago, Sammy, you know that.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Dean. The card is for you, for Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh!” Dean paused, the confused furrow of his brows easing for a moment before they went back, but this time slightly different. A little more scrunched, a tad more pulled down at the outer edge. “Sammy I feel awful, I don’t have anything for you…”

“Dean.”

“I just- I feel like a shitty brother, I didn’t know that you wanted to do anything for-”

“Dean! Hey, it’s okay, I was trying to surprise you with it anyway. Just shut up and read the card.” Sam huffed with a bemused smile.

Carefully taking the card, Dean pulled Sam over to his bed to sit next to him as he read the note made inside.

_ Dean, _

_ You’re my brother, _

_ My best friend, _

_ My hunting partner, _

_ And my parent.  _

_ It’s wrong, I know, god help me, I know that it’s wrong. _

_ But I’m in love with you. _

_ -Sam _

  
  


Sam watched as his brother read and reread the words written inside, nervous horror making his heart beat harder in his chest like it was in something thick and sticky as if his chest cavity was filled with tar and his lungs were coated in honey.

“Sammy-”

Before Dean could say anything more, Sam pulled his brother into a kiss. It was sloppy, surprised and Sam’s pretty sure that he accidentally crushed their lips together too hard. He was really sure that he had, he could taste the blood from where his lip had split when making too rough of contact with Dean’s lower lip and accidentally caught the corner of Dean’s lower teeth. 

As soon as it started, it was over. Sam pulled himself away, flying out of their room and down the stairs as quietly as possible; they’d figured out the best path for sneaking into the kitchen for midnight snacks years ago and later tested to see how fast they could go down them without waking their mom up. Sam skipped steps where he could, gracefully landing with only the softest of  _ thud _ s on the landing and skipping the last four steps. He had grabbed his bag and his coat was laying across the chair he usually did his schoolwork at in the kitchen. 

Sam didn’t even notice that he’d grabbed his coat and was already out the back door, halfway across the fenced-in portion of the back yard until he hit the fence, fumbled with the gate for five seconds before hopping it and running again at break-neck speed. He was just ten yards away from the tree line when he heard Dean.

Dean had sat frozen on his bed, confused, surprised and happy. He was absolutely over the moon. Until he noticed that Sam was sprinting out the door, a packed bag over his shoulder. That couldn’t mean anything good. Dean tripped over a dirty shirt and the edge of the rug that laid between their beds, in normal circumstances he was normally much more graceful, but the tight grip of panic in his chest affected his mind, blinding him to the things he normally didn’t have to think about, like lifting his foot over the ever-present bump in the rug. It felt as if his feet were working against him and his objective to stop Sam from whatever he was doing, which appeared to be running away, but Dean didn’t want to get ahead of himself and potentially overreact.

Dean had to slow down to make sure he didn’t wake their mom as he tore down the stairs, nearly tripping over the last step and clipping his hip against the kitchen table as he raced out the back door. The snow was starting to melt a little more during the days, but there’d be a light accumulation of snow to cover what refroze into ice, making running in the snow a little harder than it typically should be. Dean could see where there had been a little more ice under the snow and Sam had skidded to the side more to stay upright, using Sam’s tracks to help avoid icy patches he managed to gain on his brother steadily.

Just as they reached the treeline bordering the southwest edge of the property, Dean caught Sam, tackling him down into the snow.

Sam had tears in his eyes, nose red from crying and the cold, cheeks just as red from the exertion and cold. Dean had never seen someone so beautiful so scared.

They laid there, in the snow, the wetness of it seeping into their clothes as they panted, catching their breath.

“I’m in love with you too, Sam.” Dean finally managed after his lungs stopped aching from exertion and the frigid air. “Now, how about a  _ real _ first kiss?”

Sam’s breathing had just returned to normal when Dean spoke, making his heart skip a beat and breathing catch in his throat. “Really? You-” Sam cleared his throat and swallowed thickly, “You’re not just saying this so I stay, are you?”

Dean snorted and nuzzled his nose along Sam’s jaw, grazing his lips behind the trail of warm, humid breath against cold, dry skin. “You think I’d have chased you down and tackled us into the snow if I just wanted you to stay? Sam, I’d have hauled you over my shoulder by now and activated the emergency warding.”

Sam grumbled to himself under his breath about the emergency warding. No one in, no one out until whoever activated it disarmed it voluntarily. Nifty little fail-safe for when monsters followed them home.

“Jerk.” Sam huffed, sniffling and gently pushing against Dean’s shoulder. “C’mon, it’s cold and we’re wet now because  _ someone _ had to throw us down into the snow,” he teased.

Dean rolled his eyes and got off of Sam, pulling the younger up once he was on his feet again. Together they stumbled back to the house, ice-covered snow and spots from where they’d walked earlier that day to get firewood for the woodstove and the snow had compacted into ice. Dean tugged Sam closer when they’d slide around, not letting go of his younger brother’s hand for anything. When they finally got back into the house, Dean pulled Sam along to the basement where the wood stove was blazing hot, keeping the rest of the house a comfortable temperature, bringing Sam over to their beanbags where they would hide in front of the fire after being outside for hours.

They pushed their bean bags together, the large floor pillows, and thick throw blankets, making a very comfortable nest before stripping down to their base layers, boxer briefs that were wearing thin and t-shirts that were worn soft. They’d managed to not soak their base layers, just get them slightly damp, and that would change quickly with being in front of the fire.

“So.”

“So.”

The brothers looked at each other for a few moments, wrapped around one another and huddled under a blanket. The ends of Sam’s hair had gotten wet and were curling around his face, dripping ice-cold water on still cold skin.

“You’re in love with me?”

“Yeah… I tried to not be, I mean, I know it’s wrong because we’re brothers. I just… couldn’t stop loving you, no matter how hard I tried. I even tried to force myself to look at girls when we would go out, try to appreciate them like you did. Jus’ felt…” Sam paused for a moment and chewed on his lower lip, trying to make sure he described it right. “It made me feel like I was rolling around in ants, m’skin was crawling and itchy.”

Dean hummed deep in his chest, his hand gently resting on Sam’s bicep and his fingers curling in soft patterns. “I know what you mean.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought so with how you would look at them.”

“Looking and feeling are not synonymous, baby, remember that. Can’t always show how you feel to the outside world, especially you and me, can’t let them know how much we love each other. We’d be separated. It’s five different kinds of illegal for us to be together.” Dean lolled his head back, sighing heavily and watching Sam from the corner of his eyes. Sam looked impossibly ethereal in the glow of the fire. The soft halo of firelight brought out the natural golden tone of Sam’s baby soft skin, skin that Dean wanted to kiss and lick every centimeter of. Sam’s eyes seemed to be a warm, golden champagne color that glowed, usually, they were a stunning shade of champagne with grey and green flecks, rimmed in a summer’s sky blue. Here they were almost unnatural in their beauty.

“I know, De. It’s part of the reason it took me so long to actually come to terms with it, even longer to actually tell you. I almost didn’t. I kept chickening out all through today.”

“So that’s what was up with you.”

“Huh?”

“Sammy, you’ve been jumpy and moping all day, completely off in your own world. I don’t think you even looked at any of the worksheets mom handed us today, you just filled them out and handed them to her.”

“Oh. No, I guess I didn’t read them.”

“You know she’ll let you fix it until it’s right, so don’t sweat it.”

“Yeah, I know, but I should’ve read them and gotten it right the first time. It’s the principle of the thing, Dean.”

“Whatever. You finally warm, baby?”

Sam hummed softly, content to sit in front of the fire for the next while longer. “You keep calling me baby. I like it.”

“Good, now, let’s get to bed. I’m wiped and mom wants us working on the moving target range in the morning. We need to be rested enough to not shoot ourselves in the foot. Or each other.”

“That’s a really good point, but I have a counter. The fire is warm, I’m still cold and damp, and we have a really nice little nest right here. I could stay here for days.”

“Bathroom and food.”

“Duh, I’d leave for those, but otherwise? Right here.”

“Mom would ream your ass if you skipped on drills.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam sighed heavily and did his impression of their mom telling them why they have to work and work and work on one skill until it’s better than professional. “ _ You have to be able to shoot anything, any time, anywhere. Wendigos are inhumanly fast and strong, the second toughest monster out there.”  _

“And when we’re good enough she thinks we could manage to stay alive against a wendigo she’ll let up.”

“I know, just wish sometimes she was more of a mom.”

“Hey, dad was a marine, you think he’d be any better?”

“Probably not.”

Dean pulled Sam closer, tucking him into his lap and hiding his still cold nose behind Sam’s ear, making the younger jump and squeak. “Dean!”   
  


“Yes, baby?”

“Your nose is freezing!”

“Thanks for warming it for me then.” Dean grinned and pressed a tiny kiss to the soft flesh just below the corner of Sam’s jaw.

“Jerk.” Sam huffed as he lightly jabbed Dean in the ribs with his elbow, leaning into his older brother’s hold.

“Bitch.” 

They sat a while longer, soaking up the heat like lizards soaking up residual heat from rocks. When they decided they’d basked long enough in the heat of the woodstove they slowly got to their feet, Dean guiding Sam up the stairs. Sam was thoroughly exhausted, his bag had been heavy and hit against his side. There’d be bruises for sure on his ribs from where it had hit. Dean was practically carrying Sam by the time they got to the stairs leading up to their room. “C’mon baby, almost there.”

Sam grumbled at Dean’s coaxing, leaning heavily against the older Winchester. “I want a goodnight kiss.”

“Well, I think I can manage that, but you gotta get in bed first.” Dean chuckled and rubbed Sam’s arm, tugging him upstairs and taking the bag from him. It was hard enough to get a mostly asleep Sam to trudge forward, even harder yet to get him to go up the stairs, there was no need to have a heavy backpack hindering their efforts even further.

Finally, they got into their room, Dean ushered Sam to change into warm pajamas as he unpacked the bag and changed into dry pajamas himself. When the older of the pair was finished with his task Sam was already changed, blearily watching Dean move around and fix things to his liking. Dean couldn’t help but smile brightly at Sam wearing the battered and worn Iron Maiden shirt that had gone missing from Dean’s dresser a year ago and the red and black plaid flannel pants he’d gotten him for Christmas. Dean turned down the bed and nudged Sam, gesturing to the warm blankets and comfort of Dean’s bed. “You comin’?”

Sam stood there, dumbstruck, before smiling and nodding, grabbing his journal and scribbling in it quickly before closing it and jamming it back into its spot. Dean shook his head with a fond smile and let Sam crawl into bed while he did the same.

They curled together like a pair of cats, tucked under Dean’s blankets. 

  
  


_ February 15th, 1995 07:50 _

Sam woke up first, completely entangled in Dean’s growing teenage limbs. It seemed to him that every week Dean spouted another inch. Secretly Sam hoped to be shorter than Dean, so he could always be engulfed in his big brother’s safe embrace, but he also wanted to be taller, just to mock Dean a little. And maybe for some little brother revenge.

He was so content and comfortable that he nearly jumped out of his skin and Dean’s arms when their mom knocked firmly on their door four times.

“Boys, chores and then lessons. Breakfast will be ready in a half-hour. Hashbrown casserole.” Mary called through the door loud enough for them to hear even as she trudged past and down the stairs. 

Sam finally calmed enough to look up at Dean, who had woken at the knocking on the door.

Dean was not a morning person before coffee. Not even the slightest. He’d started drinking coffee around the age of eight and had fully grown accustomed to having at least one, strong and black cup of coffee every morning before functioning in any sort of human activity.

Once Sam had caught Dean in the shower with a mug of coffee, the water cold and coffee hot. In Sam’s defense, he really had to pee, mom had been sick all night in the downstairs bathroom and had passed out on the floor in there. Dean had spent the whole night making their mom had plenty to drink and she didn’t have any vomit on her face.

Still, Dean looked at him like he was everything even at the early hour and no coffee in his blood. Sam felt like he was Dean’s whole world. “Morning, De.”

“Mornin’ Sammy.” Dean hummed and pulled Sam to lay more on his chest, nuzzling his nose into Sam’s hair. Sam smelled like wood smoke, snow, and green apples. It was Dean’s favorite smell. Sam always smelled like those three things, even in the middle of summer, he smelled like wood smoke, snow and green apples.

“What’cha thinking about Dean?” Sam prodded, shifting his weight a little.

“How you always smell like you do.”

“Oh? What do I smell like?”

“Green apples, which makes sense because of your shampoo, wood smoke and snow. Even in the summer, you smell like snow.”

  
  


Sam paused and thought about that. It was weird. “Huh.”

“I like it though. It’s unique.” Dean rumbled, eyes closed and nearly dozing off again.

“C’mon De, we gotta get up. Go take your shower, I’ll grab your clothes and coffee.” Sam coaxed as he wiggled as an attempt to free himself.

“Five more minutes.”

“Dean. I have to pee.”

“So? Hold it.”

“No Dean, I  _ have _ to pee.  _ Now. _ ”

“Okay, okay, jesus.”

Sam finally got out of Dean’s arms, not that he couldn’t just spend the whole day there with nothing but a book and blankets and Dean, but mom would never let them not do their chores.

“Whoever finishes breakfast last has to clean Cherry’s stall.” Sam threw over his shoulder before pelting down the stairs, hearing Dean’s griping and groaning.

Cherry was a mean mare, she was a beautiful chestnut thoroughbred, the prime age for her to have foals and further the Campbell Family Business. But she was a mean bitch. She’d bitten one of Lavender and Sterling's foals when the little colt had tried to play with her. Thankfully the colt had been fine, but that hadn’t been the only time she’d lashed out for no reason. Once she’d kicked Mary square in the butt, just as she’d gotten out of Cherry’s stall, the mare turned around and kicked out, hitting Mary just below the waistband of her jeans.

They kept Cherry separated from everyone, Sam was the only one that could get a halter on and off of her without her ears going flat against her skull. Sam was the only one she wasn’t violent toward. 

When Mary had gone on to bring back her parent’s family business of breeding horses, her cousins had thought it crazy, seeing as she had two very young children at the time, but with some time and training for Sam and Dean, the first horses came in when Sam was five. Together the boys were in charge of making sure the horses got their feed mix at the same time every day and every night, hay nets were kept filled and letting them out to graze. By the time Dean was eleven Cherry had come into the stable, now at age sixteen, he’d had five years to perfect methods of getting Cherry to do what he wanted without getting hurt. When Sam had broken his arm two years ago, Dean had been left to handle Cherry, while Sam scooped feed and filled hay nets and polished tack.

Five minutes after Mary pulled the hashbrown casserole out of the oven, Sam was there, scooping a heap onto a plate and shoving it into his mouth as fast as humanly possible. Not even a full minute later Dean was there, dripping wet and only in his underwear, doing the same thing, but also adding another heaping spoonful onto Sam’s plate. 

“Dean! That’s cheating!”

“Like a whole minute headstart isn’t? Bitch.”

“It’s called the ‘little brother advantage’, Jerk.” Sam poked his tongue out and put more casserole onto Dean’s plate.

“Boys! I want some too, calm down and eat at a normal pace before you both start choking. You’re making messes out of yourselves and the table too.” Mary scolded before taking the spoon away and adding a smaller portion to her own plate than what her teenage sons were facing against.

Hazel and green eyes glanced up, then around, then down to themselves, their plates and then sheepishly they apologized to their mom, vowing to clean up after breakfast.

Mary sighed heavily and shook her head. “No, I need you, boys, to get started in the stables, we have a new arrival coming today. I might be seven different layers of crazy for agreeing to this one though. He’s a stallion, and maybe mean enough to put Cherry into her place and get a foal into her. We’ll see.”

“Yes, mom.” They echoed, mouths still mostly full. Mary rolled her eyes and cuffed both her boys on the back of the head.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s gross.”

Sam and Dean finished up their breakfast, Dean finishing first and crowing his joy of not having to deal with Cherry.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in De, but this means you’re dealing with the stallion that’s coming in.” Sam groused as he pulled on his boots, not happy about having been left with Cherry’s care for the day.

“Hey.” Dean nudged the younger’s shoulder gently. Sam looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll make it up to you. Plus you know you’re the only one that she doesn’t lash out at, it makes sense for you to take care of her.”

“Yeah, I know. But she still won’t let anyone ride her. And she lashed out at Comet when I rode him.”

“She thinks you’re her little foal, all gangly and stupid, and maybe she thought Comet was going to throw you. He was pretty spooked.”

“Yeah, I should’ve taken someone else on the trail. Comet’s so flighty. Should keep him in the ring.” Sam sighed heavily. “C’mon slowpoke, I’m ready and I want to get done before the newbie gets here.”

Dean winked at Sam before shoving his feet into his boots and throwing on his jacket, out of habit making sure that Sam’s jacket was zipped up all the way, only to have Sam unzip it to the halfway point.

Together they tromped out to the stable, shivering a bit as they went, wearing the lighter jackets that they could keep on while moving around the stable without overheating meant they were cold on the walk to and from.

It didn’t take long for them to have feed mixed up, hay nets filled, and the new stall made up with fresh straw.

Before they could leave the tack room, Dean grabbed Sam by the elbow and pulled him back in, pulling Sam right into a soft kiss.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll take care of Cherry tomorrow, okay?”

“Keep kissing me and you won’t have to, I’ll do it for the rest of the week.” Sam offered breathlessly, fingers curled loosely in Dean’s flannel shirt, already covered head to toe in hay dust.

Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow, his hands slipping up under the hem of Sam’s shirt and resting them on his hips, thumbs stroking softly at the baby soft skin of Sam’s stomach. “Really? One make out for a week of taking care of Cherry? It doesn’t seem like fair payment to me.”

Without another word, Dean pulled Sam into another kiss, gentle yet hot and burning. Hands wandered, rough with callouses but warm and soft with their touches. Sam’s hands rested on Dean’s chest, fingers lightly teasing his nipples, causing Dean to gasp.

They made out for a while before Sam accidentally kicked the tin of saddle soap and made it roll into the far corner, startling them both. “We need to finish our chores.”

“Yeah, and then mom will want to do the lessons for today and have us train. We both need more work with the crossbows.” Dean pointed out as he helped Sam fix his rumpled shirt and adjusting himself in his jeans.

Sam sighed and grabbed Cherry’s halter and blanket, looping a lead around his shoulder and nudging Dean with his foot. “Better start leading them out. You want me to lead them out and you muck as I go or do you want to switch off?”

“I’ll muck as you go, just signal me when you have Cherry out of the way.”

Sam smiled softly and pecked Dean’s lips. “You got it.”

With that, he headed off to Cherry’s stall.

Only when he turned the corner, there was a man; stout, dark hair and dark eyes, a nice suit and shiny shoes, petting Cherry’s muzzle as she lipped at the edge of his sleeve. Startled by not only the man but also Cherry’s antics, Sam whistled to Dean their code for an intruder.

_ Chica-dee-dee-dee-dee chica-chica-dee. _

The wave of powerful warding being slammed into place over the stable and the farm reverberated through their bodies, and clearly, the man felt it as well.

He looked up at Sam, eyes flicking red. “Hello, boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. I know it's been a while.
> 
> It's been damn hard lately. My Aunt Heather, who I lived with, passed on the 21st of this month. Just shy of Christmas. The cancer had spread to her lungs. 
> 
> I'm alright, as much as I can be. Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter written and posted for y'all.
> 
> Enjoy.


	4. The Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam sends Crowley off to find information for him.
> 
> The new stallion poses problems and reveals something about Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 6531

_ February 15th, 1995 08:12 _

  
  
  


Sam tried his best not to flinch at the sight of the red eyes of the demon before him. Red meant that he wasn’t just some run of the mill schmuck. This guy was a Crossroads demon.

Really, they shouldn’t be so surprised to see a Crossroads demon. There were plenty of dirt roads around, so it would be possible to summon one if someone knew how and needed for one. Still, demons weren’t common. Their mom said she’d only encountered one. Only one. She didn’t know any other hunters that ran into demons either, most of the time if a hunter ran into a demon, the demon killed the hunter. It ran around hunter grounds, if you encountered a demon, run. Don’t look back. Just run. No hunt was worth dealing with a demon and dying over it.

Sam could feel his heart beating harder, his fingers twitching in panic. A quick whistle and Sam had told Cherry exactly how he felt. It was the whistle he used when he couldn’t find one of the horses and was worried. 

_ Dee-dee-chica-dee fee-bee-bee seet. Dee-dee-chica-dee fee-bee seet. _

Dean always told Sam that he connected with the horses unlike him or their mom did. 

When the call rang out in the stables the third time there was a reaction that would scare the living daylights out of anyone, human or not. All at once the horses started kicking at their stall doors, stomping and whinnying, snorting and causing a deafening cacophony of noise.

Dean slid out and stood almost plastered against Sam’s right side, joining him just in time to see Cherry rear up and kick her front legs out over the stall door and hit the demon square in the head. The infernal meat suit was shoved a good four feet back and stumbled right into the devil’s trap they had touched up years ago, laid into the foundation of the stable. Above was an iron chandelier, holding electric lanterns to illuminate the area, a second Devil’s Trap above the one on the ground in the chandelier.

“Good girl, Cherry! Guess who gets a couple of sugar cubes?” Sam called out, staying close to Dean as they moved slowly around to the nearest horses. Belladonna and Hickory calmed down quickly with some pets and soft sounds, at least they calmed enough to quiet down. Hickory was a huge dark chestnut stallion, standing at 20 hands high and requiring Dean to climb up on the fence to get a leg up into the saddle.

Hickory was Dean’s horse, he’d come to them as a foal, only three months old and needing hand-reared. They had an incredible bond. Belladonna was Hickory’s sweetheart, a stunning strawberry roan that stood at 16 hands. Belladonna was Sam’s usual horse. Mary usually rode Comet. Sam rode Sterling and Belladonna mostly, it depended on if it was trail or work. Sterling was better at working with other horses, Bella was more of a trail horse.

Two calmed, fourteen to go.

Slowly and calmly they made their loop around to each horse, calming them and easing their worry. Bones and Thunder. Orchid and Oak. Willow and Whiskey. Lavender and Sterling. Opal and Iron. Finally, they got to Cherry, it took Dean holding her halter and Sam petting and feeding the apple he’d snuck out of the kitchen to her. “Shh, it’s alright Cherry. It’s alright. We’re gonna be alright girl, promise. I’ll sneak you a carrot cookie later.”

“Well, this is touching. I must admit I’d thought you two would be scarier with how you were raised.” The demon drawled in a thick British accent, hands stuffed in the pockets of the suit that probably cost as much as the stable and all the horses in it. “I mean, the Campbell family was almost feared by my kind, and that doesn’t come lightly from demons.”

“Yeah, well no offense but I thought demons were supposed to be scarier. Or drop-dead gorgeous to tempt the weak.” Dean huffed, arms crossed as he let go of Cherry’s halter. There was blood running down the demon’s skull where Cherry’s sharp hoof had split the delicate skin. It looked like the thing’s skull had also taken some decent damage.

“De, we should just exorcise it.”

“You got it memorized? I sure as shit don’t, we’ll let mom into the stables when she gets here. It’s not like the freak is goin’ anywhere.” Dean huffed as he pulled Sam closer to him and kept the younger close to Cherry’s stall, knowing full well that the ill-tempered mare would keep them safe should the demon get out of the devil’s traps somehow.

Sam pulled a small paperback notebook out from his pocket on his flannel and flipped through it until finding the exorcism Mary had found and shown them. “Here it is.”

“Wait! I know something you don’t.” The demon hurried, hands up.

Sam cocked an eyebrow in question and looked at his watch. “You have thirty seconds.”

“I know what killed your father. I don’t know too much else, but I can get you information. On anything and everything you want.” The demon offered, palms up and posture open.

Gnawing on his lip, Sam looked up at his brother, then back at the demon. “Your name. Tell me your name and I’ll give you something to get me information on. You’ll have a month to dig up everything you can on the topics given, and if what you give is ever insufficient… well,” Sam shrugged and wiggled the exorcism in front of the demon.

“Crowley. You can call me Crowley.”

Dean snorted and bumped his elbow into Sam’s shoulder. “Okay Crawly. Some more terms need to be met. You can’t tell anyone who you’re getting information on, you never enter the stables or the house.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but huffed out a resigned ‘fine’, “Then where, pray tell, are we meeting for this? It’s not like I can just telepathically hand you the information.”

“There’s a clearing about a quarter-mile southeast of here. There’s a stream that runs through it with a willow tree in the middle growing around a huge boulder. We meet there on the 20th of every month at 3 pm.” Sam offered, shoving a wandering muzzle away from his hair, knowing Cherry would bite in a bad mood like this. He didn’t particularly feel like having a chunk of his hair, or worse, missing.

After a minute the demon agreed.

“Why are you doing this though, there’s no way you’re doing it solely for our benefit.” Dean pointed out. It felt off, thinking that a demon would just ‘help’ them in any sense.

Crowley pursed his lips and rocked back onto his heels, forward onto the balls of his feet, and then back onto his heels again.

“There’s something big going on. Something that I don’t want to happen purely because I’m a fan of self-preservation. I know, that in giving you information now, you’ll be three times as deadly in the future, and you’re already deadly. I heard about the nest of vampires you boys helped Bobby Singer take out. Impressive.”

Sam tensed at the memory of that hunt. Dean had been bitten a few times and walked away with a broken wrist. Dean had been miserable for weeks while the bites healed up, and he hadn’t been able to help much with the horses, he barely got out long enough to visit his horse, Hickory, and couldn’t ride until he didn’t need the pain meds anymore because they’d made him so loopy. Sam himself had dislocated a shoulder and pulled it badly enough he had his arm in a sling. Hauling hay bales wasn’t easy with two hands, let alone only one. Mary hauled hay, Sam mixed feed, brushed, and led to pasture.

Unconsciously he moved closer to Dean, seeking comfort.

Sam always hated Dean going on hunts, far more than he hated going on hunts himself. 

It was the fear of Dean getting hurt, of being severely injured or killed, that fueled Sam’s hatred for hunting. One wrong move, one look over to a hunting partner at the wrong time, and it would be all over. A spirit could throw you into a tree with a rotting branch that breaks off and punches through your chest. The wendigo could swipe through your shoulder and sever a limb, and being forty-five minutes from the nearest hospital means you’ll bleed out before there’s even a chance to save you.

“I want information on a sensitive subject, Crowley. I want the information told to only me.” Sam said firmly, mind dark with the memories of the threat of hunting. Not only did he hate hunting, but he knew that there was something about him that wasn’t natural thanks to everything they’d learned because of the hunter’s life they led.

Pulling away from Dean, Sam withdrew a small pen from his pocket and wrote down the subject for Crowley’s research.

“Sam-” Dean sputtered for a moment, confused. “Sammy?” 

Sam sighed heavily and gave Dean a sad half-smile. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know more about it okay?”

Sam shoved the paper at Crowley and watched him read it. “I expect as much as you can dig up about it. If you find more out after it’s time to report I want it mailed here. I want to know the information as soon as possible.”

“Understood. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be on my way.” Crowley gestured to the devil’s traps and folded the paper up tightly before tucking it in a hidden breast pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. 

Sam muttered the Latin to release the traps and stepped back to Dean’s protective embrace.

“I’ll see you, boys, on the 20th, in time for tea.” Crowley nodded and promptly disappeared.

The prison wards fell and Dean sagged against Sam, drained from the energy used for the spells. Sam kept a firm arm around Dean’s waist as they shuffled to the tack room, where Sam promptly deposited Dean into a chair and kissed his temple. He set to work pulling a bottle of water and an apple out of the mini-fridge they kept in there for their own snacks and lunches. Sam shoved them both into Dean’s hands, ignoring his older brother’s own bitch face at Sam fussing over him.

“Dean, we’ll talk about it later, we still have the new arrival today. We’ll probably have to work with him. At least enough to tire him out to stable him for the night.”

Dean just grunted and bit into the apple, methodically eating through the fruit and saving the core and top for Hickory. “Fine. I don’t like this though, we shouldn’t get into a habit like that, Sam. It could put us in a shit situation.”

“I know, I just don’t know enough to know if it’s something to really worry about, De. That’s why I want the information. It’s also why I want the information relayed only to me if it’s nothing, then no need for you to worry about if it’s something? Well, we’ll handle it together.”

“You promise me, promise me you’ll never shoulder something all on your own, I will always, _ always _ help you. No matter what it is. I love you, Sammy, there’s no reason to go about things alone when you don’t have to.” Dean pulled Sam’s hand to lay on his chest, directly over his heart, beating strong and even.

Sam stood there for a minute, dumbstruck and touched, before smiling and nodding. “Yeah, I promise I’ll come to you De, always, as long as you do the same with me.”

“I promise, baby.” He pulled Sam into his lap and pressed his lips to his hair, pressing the bottle of water into Sam’s hands, encouraging him to drink.

  
  
  


_ February 15th, 1995 15:48 _

Sam sighed softly as he slipped from the saddle on his horse, Aspen, and dropped the reins. Beside him, Dean was climbing off of Hickory and grunting in discomfort. The new arrival had been practically wild, not to mention mean. They’d had their work cut out for them trying to get the stallion into the paddock nearest to the stable and after that they both agreed that they’d let him have his hissy fit outside where he wouldn’t break a stall door any.

After wrangling the new stallion their mom had handed them a small cooler and told them to go relax for a while, which was mom-speak for going out for a ride and letting her get caught up on paperwork for both the ranch and the family crematorium. Mary mostly worked from home now, taking care of the financials for the ranch and crematorium and taking the odd hunt.

So they grabbed their horses, saddled and headed to their usual get-away spot. A late lunch picnic sounded great. Usually during the summer, after chores were done and they’d packed a cooler or two, they’d spend the afternoon in their gathering of birch and white oak trees, a brook babbling through the eastern half of the small meadow.

There was still snow all around, but here it was starting to melt, small blades of green grass poking up through thin patches in the snow. In a few weeks, there wouldn’t be any snow left, just mud and grass starting to revive after a long winter.

The past few weeks hadn’t left much time for them to just go out and ride together, Dean had been busy helping at the crematorium, getting some pocket money by assembling the cardboard caskets used to burn the bodies in. It was a dull job, but it needed doing and it wasn’t hard work. Though he did usually come home with lots of cardboard cuts, Sam would step in every night and gently rub anti-bacterial cream into each cut, then wrap Dean’s hands up in a thin layer of gauze and medical tape to keep the cream from rubbing off in the night.

They secured the horses, letting the pair do their usual cute antics. Hickory and Aspen came to the ranch both very young, Hickory was only a month old when he was surrendered to them, Aspen only two and a half weeks. Both had lost their mothers and had been rejected by the other mares and neither family had the time to hand-rear a foal. So together the brothers raised their horses. Whenever they were together, they acted like a couple, grooming and being affectionate to one another. 

Sam helped steady Dean, who was wobbling some from riding. Dean had been too busy to take Hickory out, even for a quick ride, and given Hickory’s size, it was easy to get saddle sore. 

“I’m okay Sammy, I just didn’t wear the best jeans today.”

“They look new.”

“Yeah, well they’re newer. Not brand new. Uncle Chris said he got them at a second-hand store. Probably only worn a few times. They’re stiff as shit, couldn’t even get a wallet into my pocket if I tried.”

“Did you try? You never carry one around home.”

“Yeah, I was gonna break ‘em in a little more so I could wear them out when we go for dinner. Most of my pairs have holes in spots I don’t think are exactly appropriate for dining in.”

“Not unless I’m the only one you’re dining around.”

Dean bumped his shoulder into Sam’s and shook his head with a smile. “Keep it in your pants, baby boy. I mean it, you’re not getting anything more than kisses until you’re sixteen.”

Sam pouted for a minute as he thought of waiting that long. “Fine. Just promise me that you’ll be my first?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Now, c’mon I’m starving.” Dean tugged Sam into a slow jog to their usual lunch spot, the half-shaded flat boulder that the willow tree grew around. The brook was babbling sluggishly, but it was sunny and warm for the season. With the full sunshine, there wasn’t any snow remaining on the boulder and they were able to sit without being in the snow. 

  
  


\--- 

Spending time relaxing just between the two of them, four if you counted Aspen and Hickory, was exactly what they needed after their demon encounter. By the time they returned home, it was nearly dark, the last dregs of weak February sunshine clinging to wispy clouds.

The horses were glad to be back in the warm stable, feed buckets and hay nets full. Dean might have snuck a couple of carrot cookies into Hickory. Not like Hickory would tell anyone.

“Hey, we should see if we can get a blanket on the newbie. It’s gonna drop down low tonight, might even get some snow.” Sam said after he’d finished cleaning rocks out of Aspen’s shoes, a blanket already in his arms. Dean stared at the blanket for a minute before sighing heavily and nodding. 

“Yeah, it looks like we’re gonna need back up though, he was still pretty wild.” Dean blew a breath through his mouth, cheeks puffing out.

“You wrangle and I’ll blanket.” Sam passed over a length of rope and eyed Hickory’s half-tacked state.

“I’ll ride him bareback, I don’t want to sit in a saddle anymore than he wants to wear one right now.”

Sam nodded slowly before setting the blanket down and linking his hands together to give Dean a leg up.

  
  
  


Two hours later and they’d managed to get covered in partly frozen mud, Sam took a violent hoof to the shoulder, and yet, they’d gotten a blanket on the newbie.

When Mary saw her sons walk in the house, her first thought was to send them to shower. Then she noted how Dean was hovering over Sam’s right shoulder, and how her youngest’s shoulder looked wrong.

“What happened? I thought you two were going to picnic.” She moved to get a clean dish towel and dampen it with cool water, eyeing as Dean helped Sam ease out of the outer layers. Every hiss and bitten whimper that left Sam’s lips had Dean whispering apologies and taking even greater care to avoid causing pain.

“We managed to get a blanket on the newbie. I was securing the belly strap and he got me with the front hoof right on the ball of my shoulder.” Sam rasped out.

Mary quickly shooed Dean away once Sam’s shoulder was visible. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Four minutes ago. I had to get Hickory inside fast before I ran Sam across the yard.” Dean replied, knowing that it was important to keep track of how long it took for a bruise to form.

“It’s already dark purple, almost black. There’s some broken skin…” Mary gently wiped the dishcloth at the injury. “Dean, go get the trauma kit, we’ll need to stitch this. Get some soft washcloths too, we’ll try to get the bruising to finish developing with some heat and hot washcloths would be the best way instead of a heat pack.”

When Dean had left the room, Sam sagged in the chair, like a marionette that’s been set down. “There’s something wrong with that horse,” Sam told her softly.

“What makes you think that?” she prodded as nonchalantly as possible, half afraid this was the same ability that told Sam about the man that had beat his wife to death only a few days after coming into the funeral home portion of the family crematorium. 

“It’s not fully… well, not human because it’s a horse. But it’s not just a horse either. There are scars, behind the front and before the back legs.” Sam sat there for a minute before a light came on behind his eyes. “Didn’t you say that this stallion was only two years old?”

Mary paused before nodding slowly. “Yeah?”

“Well, no horse is born grey. Birch wasn’t. They turn gray, and even then it takes a while before they’re fully grey.” 

“I guess that’s weird baby, but that doesn’t mean much of anything. Sometimes nature is funky.”

“Do we have any books on Norse mythology?”

“Maybe, not a lot, I’ll ask Bobby if he has any we could borrow.”

Sam settled for that and relaxed until Dean returned with the trauma kit they kept in the upstairs bathroom.

  
  


** _February 15th, 1995 22:36_ **

** _Mary’s journal_ **

** _The boys handled a new arrival today. Not for the first time, but this is the first time that they’ve been hurt at home. Sure, the boys jumped off the roof of the shed when Sam was eight and he broke his arm, but one of the horses did this._ **

** _Sam took a kick right to the shoulder. He needed some minor stitches, just to help it heal faster and cleaner, he’ll need his arm in a sling for a month or so. Sam thinks there’s something unnatural about this new stallion. I was hoping that a horse as wild tempered as Cherry would help mellow her out, but this one… He’s staying away from everyone for as long as we can until we can figure out what’s up. I don’t want Sam or Dean to get hurt. I don’t want our herd to get hurt either._ **

** _Dean wouldn’t let me touch Sam other than when I sent him to get the trauma kit for the suture set._ **

** _He’s so protective over Sam like he’d kill the wind for messing up Sam’s hair._ **

** _I fear Sam may be even more protective over Dean than Dean is of Sam._ **

** _I dread the day someone tries to separate them. I sure as hell am not putting my life on the line like that._ **

** _I’d like to think that they wouldn’t do that to me. I’m their mother for Christ’s sake, but I’m no fool. I wouldn’t put it past them._ **

** _I think Dean’s mad that I accepted this surrender. After all, Sam wouldn’t be hurt right now if I had turned it away. The horse doesn’t even have a name yet._ **

** _Fuck. We might be in over our heads._ **

** _-MW_ **

  
  


** _February 25th, 1995_ **

** _Sam’s journal_ **

** _I’ve been stuck with the easy stuff for over a week. Dean won’t even let me sharpen a pencil. My shoulder hurts badly enough that I don’t complain, but if this is what he’s going to be like every time that I’m hurt, monsters won’t stand a chance and I’m going to be bald by 25._ **

** _The real benefit is that we pushed our beds together and sleep next to each other every night._ **

** _Mom left two days ago to go see Bobby. He has some books that we can borrow to see if there’s anything that might have to do with horses. I asked mom specifically for at least one Norse mythology. I’ve got a feeling about Norse. It’s like this tugging. _ **

** _Damn. It’s hard to explain. _ **

** _I should put this away before Dean comes to check on me and sees me writing. He saw me writing yesterday and grumbled and growled about how I was moving and straining my shoulder, even though I told him that my shoulder felt fine. _ **

** _He’s so protective. I hope not overly though, it could pose problems in the future._ **

** _-SW_ **

  
  
  


_ April 2nd, 1995 _

Sam pushed Dean away from where he was reading through a thick tome of Greek mythology. Last month he’d been able to finally finish tracing the new stallion’s lineage and confirmed his feeling that this was the offspring of Sleipnir. 

Now they were looking for ways to help them tame him.

Sam had taken to looking through traditional Norse names, looking for one that would fit the stallion. After much looking Tyr was decided upon.

Mary and Dean were a little unsure at first, thinking maybe they should keep with the theme of their horses. All were named after trees or plants, except for Silver, but Silver was short for Silver Birch, so he even fit. Sam argued that this horse was strong, in spirit and physical means, and would have probably been a war horse back in the day. Tyr was massive, fast, and built strong. 

He was incredibly smart too. He learned that Sam was the only one willing to work with him, so he paid no mind to Mary and Dean, knowing they wouldn’t approach him. But Sam was determined to at least get him sociable, enough to put him in the stable or in a paddock with another horse. 

Currently, Sam was perched under a large oak tree that bordered Tyr’s paddock and provided some shade. Dean was lounging beside him, head poking over his shoulder to read the passages at random, making Sam huff and elbow him gently until he stopped, only to return to reading over his shoulder a few minutes later.

“Dean.”

“C’mon Sam, you’ve been searching for a month now. Walk away from it for a little, come make out with me, go for a race, maybe climb a tree, something.” Dean pleaded, slowly tugging away the book and sliding a scrap of paper Sam had been using to mark his spot and sliding it into place. “When’s the last time we made out? Huh?”

Sam rolled his eyes and kissed Dean’s nose. “This morning. When you woke me up.”

“You were having a _ happy _ dream.” Dean pointed out before ripping a handful of grass out and shoving it down Sam’s shirt.

Jumping up, Sam shook his shirt and cussed the older Winchester out for being a dick before marching off towards Tyr. “I’m ignoring you for at least three hours now. Go put the book inside.” Sam yelled over his shoulder as he grabbed the harness and rope he kept near the gate.

Acting fast he went to the fence and tied the very end to the top rung and waited. He could see Tyr, ears back and tail flicking wildly. Like a bolt of lighting the stallion charged. Sam waited until the last possible second, threw the lasso around and tightened before running away at full speed, pitching himself down under the bottom of the fence and out of the paddock. At the end of the rope, Tyr was bucking and neighing wildly. Sam panted for a minute before heading inside the stable to grab a few more lengths of rope.

Carefully he looped and made lassos, walking back and staying far enough away from the wild thing. 

Softly he spoke the old Norse chant, low and deep, sitting in the depths of his chest and filled with power. 

_ Hearing I ask | from the holy races, _

_ From Heimdall's sons, | both high and low; _

_ Thou wilt, Valfather, | that well I relate _

_ Old tales I remember | of men long ago. _

_ I remember yet | the giants of yore, _

_ Who gave me bread | in the days gone by; _

_ Nine worlds I knew, | the nine in the tree _

_ With mighty roots | beneath the mold. _

_ Of old was the age | when Ymir lived; _

_ Sea nor cool waves | nor sand there were; _

_ Earth had not been, | nor heaven above, _

_ But a yawning gap, | and grass nowhere. _

_ Then Bur's sons lifted | the level land, _

_ Mithgarth the mighty | there they made; _

_ The sun from the south | warmed the stones of earth, _

_ And green was the ground | with growing leeks. _

_ The sun, the sister | of the moon, from the south _

_ Her right hand cast | over heaven's rim; _

_ No knowledge she had | where her home should be, _

_ The moon knew not | what might was his, _

_ The stars knew not | where their stations were. _

_ Then sought the gods | their assembly-seats, _

_ The holy ones, | and council held; _

_ Names then gave they | to noon and twilight, _

_ Morning they named, | and the waning moon, _

_ Night and evening, | the years to number. _

_ At Ithavoll met | the mighty gods, _

_ Shrines and temples | they timbered high; _

_ Forges they set, and | they smithied ore, _

_ Tongs they wrought, | and tools they fashioned. _

_ In their dwellings at peace | they played at tables, _

_ Of gold no lack | did the gods then know,-- _

_ Till thither came | up giant-maids three, _

_ Huge of might, | out of Jotunheim. _

_ Then sought the gods | their assembly-seats, _

_ The holy ones, | and council held, _

_ To find who should raise | the race of dwarfs _

_ Out of Brimir's blood | and the legs of Blain. _

_ There was Motsognir | the mightiest made _

_ Of all the dwarfs, | and Durin next; _

_ Many a likeness | of men they made, _

_ The dwarfs in the earth, | as Durin said. _

_ Nyi and Nithi, | Northri and Suthri, _

_ Austri and Vestri, | Althjof, Dvalin, _

_ Nar and Nain, | Niping, Dain, _

_ Bifur, Bofur, | Bombur, Nori, _

_ An and Onar, | Ai, Mjothvitnir. _

_ Vigg and Gandalf) | Vindalf, Thrain, _

_ Thekk and Thorin, | Thror, Vit and Lit, _

_ Nyr and Nyrath,-- | now have I told-- _

_ Regin and Rathsvith-- | the list aright. _

_ Fili, Kili, | Fundin, Nali, _

_ Heptifili, | Hannar, Sviur, _

_ Frar, Hornbori, | Fræg and Loni, _

_ Aurvang, Jari, | Eikinskjaldi. _

_ The race of the dwarfs | in Dvalin's throng _

_ Down to Lofar | the list must I tell; _

_ The rocks they left, | and through wet lands _

_ They sought a home | in the fields of sand. _

_ There were Draupnir | and Dolgthrasir, _

_ Hor, Haugspori, | Hlevang, Gloin, _

_ Dori, Ori, | Duf, Andvari, _

_ Skirfir, Virfir, | Skafith, Ai. _

_ Alf and Yngvi, | Eikinskjaldi, _

_ Fjalar and Frosti, | Fith and Ginnar; _

_ So for all time | shall the tale be known, _

_ The list of all | the forbears of Lofar. _

_ Then from the throng | did three come forth, _

_ From the home of the gods, | the mighty and gracious; _

_ Two without fate | on the land they found, _

_ Ask and Embla, | empty of might. _

_ Soul they had not, | sense they had not, _

_ Heat nor motion, | nor goodly hue; _

_ Soul gave Othin, | sense gave Hönir, _

_ Heat gave Lothur | and goodly hue. _

_ An ash I know, | Yggdrasil its name, _

_ With water white | is the great tree wet; _

_ Thence come the dews | that fall in the dales, _

_ Green by Urth's well | does it ever grow. _

_ Thence come the maidens | mighty in wisdom, _

_ Three from the dwelling | down 'neath the tree; _

_ Urth is one named, | Verthandi the next,-- _

_ On the wood they scored,-- | and Skuld the third. _

_ Laws they made there, and life allotted _

_ To the sons of men, and set their fates. _

_ The war I remember, | the first in the world, _

_ When the gods with spears | had smitten Gollveig, _

_ And in the hall | of Hor had burned her, _

_ Three times burned, | and three times born, _

_ Oft and again, | yet ever she lives. _

_ Heith they named her | who sought their home, _

_ The wide-seeing witch, | in magic wise; _

_ Minds she bewitched | that were moved by her magic, _

_ To evil women | a joy she was. _

_ On the host his spear | did Othin hurl, _

_ Then in the world | did war first come; _

_ The wall that girdled | the gods was broken, _

_ And the field by the warlike | Wanes was trodden. _

_ Then sought the gods | their assembly-seats, _

_ The holy ones, | and council held, _

_ Whether the gods | should tribute give, _

_ Or to all alike | should worship belong. _

_ Then sought the gods | their assembly-seats, _

_ The holy ones, | and council held, _

_ To find who with venom | the air had filled, _

_ Or had given Oth's bride | to the giants' brood. _

_ In swelling rage | then rose up Thor,-- _

_ Seldom he sits | when he such things hears,-- _

_ And the oaths were broken, | the words and bonds, _

_ The mighty pledges | between them made. _

_ I know of the horn | of Heimdall, hidden _

_ Under the high-reaching | holy tree; _

_ On it there pours | from Valfather's pledge _

_ A mighty stream: | would you know yet more? _

_ Alone I sat | when the Old One sought me, _

_ The terror of gods, | and gazed in mine eyes: _

_ "What hast thou to ask? | why comest thou hither? _

_ Othin, I know | where thine eye is hidden." _

_ I know where Othin's | eye is hidden, _

_ Deep in the wide-famed | well of Mimir; _

_ Mead from the pledge | of Othin each mom _

_ Does Mimir drink: | would you know yet more? _

_ Necklaces had I | and rings from Heerfather, _

_ Wise was my speech | and my magic wisdom; _

_ Widely I saw | over all the worlds. _

_ On all sides saw I | Valkyries assemble, _

_ Ready to ride | to the ranks of the gods; _

_ Skuld bore the shield, | and Skogul rode next, _

_ Guth, Hild, Gondul, | and Geirskogul. _

_ Of Herjan's maidens | the list have ye heard, _

_ Valkyries ready | to ride o'er the earth. _

_ I saw for Baldr, | the bleeding god, _

_ The son of Othin, | his destiny set: _

_ Famous and fair | in the lofty fields, _

_ Full grown in strength | the mistletoe stood. _

_ From the branch which seemed | so slender and fair _

_ Came a harmful shaft | that Hoth should hurl; _

_ But the brother of Baldr | was born ere long, _

_ And one night old | fought Othin's son. _

_ His hands he washed not, | his hair he combed not, _

_ Till he bore to the bale-blaze | Baldr's foe. _

_ But in Fensalir | did Frigg weep sore _

_ For Valhall's need: | would you know yet more? _

_ Then did Váli slaughter bonds twist: _

_ made farily grim were those fetters of guts. _

_ One did I see | in the wet woods bound, _

_ A lover of ill, | and to Loki like; _

_ By his side does Sigyn | sit, nor is glad _

_ To see her mate: | would you know yet more? _

_ From the east there pours | through poisoned vales _

_ With swords and daggers | the river Slith. _

_ Northward a hall | in Nithavellir _

_ Of gold there rose | for Sindri's race; _

_ And in Okolnir | another stood, _

_ Where the giant Brimir | his beer-hall had. _

_ A hall I saw, | far from the sun, _

_ On Nastrond it stands, | and the doors face north, _

_ Venom drops | through the smoke-vent down, _

_ For around the walls | do serpents wind. _

_ I saw there wading | through rivers wild _

_ Treacherous men | and murderers too, _

_ And workers of ill | with the wives of men; _

_ There Nithhogg sucked | the blood of the slain, _

_ And the wolf tore men; | would you know yet more? _

_ The giantess old | in Ironwood sat, _

_ In the east, and bore | the brood of Fenrir; _

_ Among these one | in monster's guise _

_ Was soon to steal | the sun from the sky. _

_ There feeds he full | on the flesh of the dead, _

_ And the home of the gods | he reddens with gore; _

_ Dark grows the sun, | and in summer soon _

_ Come mighty storms: | would you know yet more? _

_ On a hill there sat, | and smote on his harp, _

_ Eggther the joyous, | the giants' warder; _

_ Above him the cock | in the bird-wood crowed, _

_ Fair and red | did Fjalar stand. _

_ Then to the gods | crowed Gollinkambi, _

_ He wakes the heroes | in Othin's hall; _

_ And beneath the earth | does another crow, _

_ The rust-red bird | at the bars of Hel. _

_ Now Garm howls loud | before Gnipahellir, _

_ The fetters will burst, | and the wolf run free; _

_ Much do I know, | and more can see _

_ Of the fate of the gods, | the mighty in fight. _

_ Brothers shall fight | and fell each other, _

_ And sisters' sons | shall kinship stain; _

_ Hard is it on earth, | with mighty whoredom; _

_ Axe-time, sword-time, | shields are sundered, _

_ Wind-time, wolf-time, | ere the world falls; _

_ Nor ever shall men | each other spare. _

_ Fast move the sons | of Mim, and fate _

_ Is heard in the note | of the Gjallarhorn; _

_ Loud blows Heimdall, | the horn is aloft, _

_ In fear quake all | who on Hel-roads are. _

_ Yggdrasil shakes, | and shiver on high _

_ The ancient limbs, | and the giant is loose; _

_ To the head of Mim | does Othin give heed, _

_ But the kinsman of Surt | shall slay him soon. _

_ How fare the gods? | how fare the elves? _

_ All Jotunheim groans, | the gods are at council; _

_ Loud roar the dwarfs | by the doors of stone, _

_ The masters of the rocks: | would you know yet more? _

_ Now Garm howls loud | before Gnipahellir, _

_ The fetters will burst, | and the wolf run free _

_ Much do I know, | and more can see _

_ Of the fate of the gods, | the mighty in fight. _

_ From the east comes Hrym | with shield held high; _

_ In giant-wrath | does the serpent writhe; _

_ O'er the waves he twists, | and the tawny eagle _

_ Gnaws corpses screaming; | Naglfar is loose. _

_ O'er the sea from the east | there sails a ship _

_ With the people of Muspell, | at the helm stands Loki; _

_ After the wolf | do wild men follow, _

_ And with them the brother | of Byleist goes. _

_ Surt fares from the south | with the scourge of branches, _

_ The sun of the battle-gods | shone from his sword; _

_ The crags are sundered, | the giant-women sink, _

_ The dead throng Hel-way, | and heaven is cloven. _

_ Now comes to Hlin | yet another hurt, _

_ When Othin fares | to fight with the wolf, _

_ And Beli's fair slayer | seeks out Surt, _

_ For there must fall | the joy of Frigg. _

_ Then comes Sigfather's | mighty son, _

_ Vithar, to fight | with the foaming wolf; _

_ In the giant's son | does he thrust his sword _

_ Full to the heart: | his father is avenged. _

_ Hither there comes | the son of Hlothyn, _

_ The bright snake gapes | to heaven above; _

_ Against the serpent | goes Othin's son. _

_ In anger smites | the warder of earth,-- _

_ Forth from their homes | must all men flee;- _

_ Nine paces fares | the son of Fjorgyn, _

_ And, slain by the serpent, | fearless he sinks. _

_ The sun turns black, | earth sinks in the sea, _

_ The hot stars down | from heaven are whirled; _

_ Fierce grows the steam | and the life-feeding flame, _

_ Till fire leaps high | about heaven itself. _

_ Now Garm howls loud | before Gnipahellir, _

_ The fetters will burst, | and the wolf run free; _

_ Much do I know, | and more can see _

_ Of the fate of the gods, | the mighty in fight. _

_ Now do I see | the earth anew _

_ Rise all green | from the waves again; _

_ The cataracts fall, | and the eagle flies, _

_ And fish he catches | beneath the cliffs. _

_ The gods in Ithavoll | meet together, _

_ Of the terrible girdler | of earth they talk, _

_ And the mighty past | they call to mind, _

_ And the ancient runes | of the Ruler of Gods _

_ In wondrous beauty | once again _

_ Shall the golden tables | stand mid the grass, _

_ Which the gods had owned | in the days of old, _

_ Then fields unsowed | bear ripened fruit, _

_ All ills grow better, | and Baldr comes back; _

_ Baldr and Hoth dwell | in Hropt's battle-hall, _

_ And the mighty gods: | would you know yet more? _

_ Then Hönir wins | the prophetic wand, _

_ And the sons of the brothers | of Tveggi abide _

_ In Vindheim now: | would you know yet more? _

_ More fair than the sun, | a hall I see, _

_ Roofed with gold, | on Gimle it stands; _

_ There shall the righteous | rulers dwell, _

_ And happiness ever | there shall they have. _

_ There comes on high, | all power to hold, _

_ A mighty lord, | all lands he rules _

_ From below the dragon | dark comes forth, _

_ Nithhogg flying | from Nithafjoll; _

_ The bodies of men on | his wings he bears, _

_ The serpent bright: | but now must I sink.** _

  
  


Sam could feel power, deep and flowing, in his words, the lullaby soothing Tyr, easing him into letting Sam close as he slipped the rope around each ankle, tethering him to the fence as he smoothed a calming hand along silver withers. Carefully, he pulled Tyr’s head down and slid the halter in place, clipping a lead rope and resting a warm palm on his velvet muzzle.

The moment was broken by Dean’s gasp.

“Sam. Your eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Sam is speaking in Old Norse, but since most of us don't speak the language, I put the English translation that I found here: https://lyricstranslate.com/en/v%C3%B6lusp%C3%A1-prophecy-seeress.html-0
> 
> Here is the song on youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=303&v=6loWrABr8gA&feature=emb_logo  
_
> 
> So, what did y'all think? Kinda horse centric this chapter, but that won't always be the case.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr at j2sunflowerbaby, which is my Supernatural/Wincest sideblog. It's a lot of goth Sam and biker Dean, some Satan stuff, some bloody Winchesters, updates about the stories I'm working on and junk like that. You can also find commission info there if you're interested in helping me out while I write, take care of my elderly cat and help my aunt. I might be convinced to post pictures of our cats on there too, but for now, it's 02:22 and I'm gonna pass out before I have to go grocery shopping. Next chapter will be further into the future and timestamps for the important parts of what's in the missing time. 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to all-4-wincest on tumblr for commissioning me to write this. I love you doll, I hope you enjoyed this.


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